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A  Club  of  One 

PASSAGES    FROM   THE   NOTE-BOOK  OF 

A  MAN   WHO   MIGHT  HAVE 

BEEN    SOCIABLE 


WITH  MARGINAL  SUMMARY 
BY  THE  EDITOR 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1895 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO, 

All  rights  reserved. 


TWELFTH  EDITION. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


EDITOR'S   PREFACE 

A  PRETTY  good-si^ed  drawer,  locked  and 
padlocked,  was  found  filled  with  the  manu- 
scripts from  which  these  Passages  were  taken. 
I  have  presumed  to  give  them  the  title  they 
hear,  the  author  of  them  having  departed 
this  life.  It  is  very  evident  they  were  not  de- 
signed for  the  public.  They  were  written 
purely  for  occupation,  there  is  not  a  doubt 
of  it.  The  author,  a  reader  and  thinker, 
though  an  invalid,  could  not  be  idle.  He 
read  and  he  thought,  and  sometimes  he  re- 
corded. He  has  said  some  things  that  have 
not  been  said  before,  and  has  said  them  in  his 
own  way.  Except  in  the  earlier  pages,  almost 
all  that  related  to  his  aches  and  ailments  has 
been  omitted,  —  the  editor  knowing  perfectly 
well  that  his  many  complaints  would  very 
soon  weary  if  not  disgust  the  reader,  when 


w  Editor's  Preface 

the  purpose  constantly  in  view  was  to  enter- 
tain and  enlighten  him.  Another  effect  has 
been  to  keep  down  the  hulk,  as  the  fashion 
seems  to  he  going  out  of  rating  books  by  the 
pound. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  Birthday  Lamentation 9 

His  Left  Ear  Now to 

Snowing  Again /2 

His  Hair  Trimmed  Too  Close /^ 

An  Unaccountable  Twitching 14 

The  Duke  of  Queensberry  Plan  ......  75 

The  Bit  of  Potato  SHn 77 

"  The  Abominable  Sparrows" 18 

Discharges  Ms  Doctor 20 

The  Apothecary's  Bill 2i 

Blue  Glass  Experience 23 

Too  Much  Blue  Glass 24 

The  New  Doctor 26 

It  Rains  —  Studies  Dante 29 

Continues  the  Study  of  Dante $6 

Exhaustion  —  Then  and  Now 40 

The  Blinds  Left  Open 4$ 

Horn-Blowing .     .     .  43 

Marriage  of  December  and  May 48 

Importance  of  Taking  Care  of  his  Health    ...  57 

Hates  Disputation .     •     .    *     .  56 


m  Contents 

Pledge-Making  and  Pledge-Taking 60 

The  North  East  Wind 60 

Age  and  Want 64 

Town  and  Country 68 

The  Children 75 

Is  Life  Worth  Living? 81 

The  Stupid  Doctors — Old  Remedies 82 

Diseased  Sensibility 86 

Politeness p2 

Compliments <?5 

The  Lawyers 98 

An  Honest  Man 707 

Killing  the  Devil /  13 

The  Gout  Now / 16 

Counts  his  Pulsations       7/7 

The  Man  and  the  Woman 720 

The  Professional  Invalid 124 

The  Professional  Invalid  Continued i)o 

Foster's  Essays  —  Margaret 1 36 

The  Perfect  Ballad 140 

Saint  Valentine's  Day 142 

"My  Books!" ....  148 

Books !    Books ! 757 

The  Dance  of  the  Pill  Boxes 160 

«  My  Grindstone  Library" 164 

Ancient  and  Modern  Quakerism 772 

Man  and  Monkey 776 

Metaphysics  and  Political  Economy 1 86 

« Lord,  Have  Mercy "     .     .  .     .  188 


Contents  i)ii 

Evil  Communications 795 

Sin  and  Bile 199 

The  Thoroughly  Cultivated  Man 204 

The  Business  of  Reforming 212 

Eyes  for  tbe  Blind 219 

The  Burden  and  the  Mystery 225 

A  Fogy,  and  Not  a  Reformer 2^5 

Another  President  Elected 240 

Dimensions  of  Hell 240 

The  Human  Brain 241 

«  My  Wife" 249 


A  CLUB  OF  ONE 


,  the  burden  of  my  life  !   Why  A  birthday 

.  lamentation, 

am   I   spared  to  see  another 


birthday  ?  Poor  miserable  me  ! 

an    aggregation    of    miseries. 

I  live  to  suffer,  and  suffer  to 
live.  I  have  used  drugs  enough  to  poison 
all  the  fishes  in  all  the  oceans.  Doctors 
many  and  doctors  different  have  visited 
me,  times  innumerable  ;  but  to  how  little 
purpose !  According  to  the  Zendavesta, 
the  number  of  diseases  wrought  by  the 
witchcraft  of  the  evil  one  was  "nine,  and  99,999^ 
ninety,  and  nine  hundred,  and  nine  thou- 
sand, and  nine  times  ten  thousand." 
Ninety -nine  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  seems  to  me  to  be  a  low  esti- 
mate. The  devil,  I  believe,  has  been  in- 
dustriously inventing  and  introducing  new 
ones  ever  since  the  sacred  book  was  writ- 
ten. Considering  his  genius  for  mischief, 
and  his  hatred  of  the  human  race,  the  arch- 


10 


A  Club  of  One 


incomput 
able. 


enemy  must  have  doubled  the  number,  at 

tinceZoroas-  ,  .        , ,  .  , 

ter.  least,  in  the  two  or  three  thousand  years 

since  Zoroaster.  Indeed,  when  I  think  of 
what  I  have  myself  endured,  I  conclude 

The  number  the  number  incomputable.  Everything 
short  of  death  and  absolute  insanity  I  have 
suffered,  in  body  and  in  mind.  In  the 
thirty  years  since  I  began  to  suffer  ex- 
clusively (never  having  seen  a  well  day  in 
all  that  time),  every  organ  has  again  and 
again  been  attacked,  and  every  function 
disturbed.  I  have  been  the  victim,  I  do 
believe,  of  every  torture  known  to  man- 
kind. But  for  the  hopes  of  orthodoxy,  I  — 
But  I  am  forgetting  the  powders  the  doc- 
in  his  tor  left  me  for  the  pain  in  my  great  toe 
—  one  to  be  taken  every  two  hours,  till 
the  pain  leaves  or  decidedly  abates.  The 
powder  was  hardly  down  when  another  toe 
was  attacked  !  Two  powders  now,  I  sup- 
pose, every  two  hours.  My  poor  toes  ! 


great  toe. 


In  his  left 
ear  now. 


Worse  and  worse,  after  a  wretched  night. 
It  is  my  left  ear  now  that  is  tortured. 
The  acuteness  of  the  pain  may  be  guessed 
upon  reflecting  that  the  nerves  of  hearing 
(according  to  Dr.  Holmes)  clasp  the  roots 
of  the  brain  as  a  creeping  vine  clings  to 
the  bole  of  an  elm.  If  I  am  to  live,  I  want 


A  Club  of  One  1 1 

my  two  ears,  that  I  may  execrate  the  clock 
at  every  tick,  as  I  lie  awake  the  long  nights. 
The  ear  —  what  a  wonderful  arrangement 
it  is  !  The  eyes  shut ;  other  organs  are 
suspended ;  but  the  ear  is  ever  open  and 
attentive,  —  ready  to  alarm  at  any  disturb- 
ance. That  striking  and  quaint  passage  in 
Rabelais  occurs  to  me  :  "  Nature,  I  am  f R 
persuaded,  did  not  without  a  cause  frame 
our  ears  open,  putting  thereto  no  gates  at 
all,  nor  shutting  them  up  with  any  manner 
of  inclosures,  as  she  hath  done  upon  the 
tongue,  the  eyes,  and  other  such  out-jut- 
ting parts  of  the  body.  The  cause,  as  I 
imagine,  is,  to  the  end  that  every  day  and 
every  night,  and  that  continually,  we  may 
be  ready  to  hear,  and  by  a  perpetual  hear- 
ing apt  to  learn."  The  mighty,  miserable 
Nimrod  !  Thinking  of  my  ear,  I  think  of 
his  miserable  end,  and  I  think  of  some- 
body suffering  beside  myself.  Enraged 
(according  to  a  tradition  of  the  Arabs)  at 
the  destruction  of  his  gods  by  the  prophet 
Abraham,  he  sought  to  slay  him,  and  waged 
war  against  him.  But  the  prophet  prayed 
to  God,  and  said,  "  Deliver  me,  O  God,  Abraham's 
from  this  man,  who  worships  stones,  and 
boasts  himself  to  be  the  lord  of  all  things  ;  " 
and  God  said  to  him,  "  How  shall  I  pun- 


12  A  Club  of  One 

ish  him  ? "  And  the  prophet  answered, 
"  To  Thee  armies  are  as  nothing,  and  the 
strength  and  power  of  men  likewise.  Be- 
fore the  smallest  of  thy  creatures  will  they 
perish."  And  God  was  pleased  at  the  faith 
God  sent  a  of  the  prophet,  and  He  sent  a  gnat,  which 
vexed  Nimrod  day  and  night,  so  that  he 
built  a  room  of  glass  in  his  palace,  that  he 
might  dwell  therein  and  shut  out  the  in- 
sect. But  the  gnat  entered  also,  and  passed 
by  his  ear  into  his  brain,  upon  which  it  fed, 
and  increased  in  size  day  by  day,  so  that 
the  servants  of  Nimrod  beat  his  head  with 
a  hammer  continually,  that  he  might  have 
some  ease  from  his  pain  ;  but  he  died,  after 
The  gnat  in  suffering  these  torments  for  four  hundred 
btainfor  years.  Alas  !  (to  think  of  it)  who  hath  not 
his  gnat  of  memory,  reflection,  or  retribu- 
tion? 

snowing  Snowing  again  !  The  great  ugly  flakes 
are  covering  everything.  The  air  is  raw 
and  chilly.  I  hate  snow.  There  is  noth- 
ing interesting  about  it.  It  has  the  ex- 
pression of  a  corpse.  It  is  an  obstruction 
and  a  nuisance.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  take 
my  accustomed  ninety-two  paces  on  the 

Chilliness  * 

covering-  his  veranda  to-day  on  account  of  it.     I  feel  a 
shroud.        chilliness  gradually  covering  my  skin  like 


A  Club  of  One  13 

a  shroud,  freezing  the  millions  of  pores, 
thousands  by  thousands.  The  tediousness 
of  the  process,  as  well  as  the  distress  of 
it.  My  poor  bones  !  The  marrow  of  them 
now  seems  to  be  freezing,  too.  What  am 
I  to  do  ?  It  is  a  question  of  woolens,  per-  A  question 
haps.  I  tried  white  —  it  is  too  chilling  ;  I  °J 
tried  red  —  it  is  too  irritating.  I  believe  I 
shall  try  pink  —  a  delicate  shade.  I  arn 
resolved  upon  pink  —  the  flush  of  a  glow- 
ing sun-burn  on  a  tender  part.  Pink  it 
shall  be.  If  satisfactory,  I  shall  tell  no- 
body. The  precious  secret !  My  poor 
brain  is  not  to  be  worried  discovering  re- 
lief for  other  people.  Let  them  suffer ! 
Who  cares  for  me  ?  Brayed  in  a  mortar 
may  all  the  world  be,  for  aught  that  I  care. 
It  vexes  me  to  think  that  I  have  nobody  to  Nobody  to 
think  for  me.  I  believe  that  if  my  brain  A*». 
could  rest  for  a  while  I  should  be  better. 
But  the  necessity  of  thinking,  thinking 
—  always  of  myself.  Poor  me  !  Nobody 
pities  me.  The  universal  selfishness  !  Ah, 
my  eyes  are  ready  to  burst  out  with  suffer- 
ing, as  they  say  Swift's  did.  I  can  hardly 
see  the  lines  I  write  on.  My  wife  — 

My  barber,  in  cutting  my  hair  this  morn-  His  hair 
ing,  trimmed  it  too  close,  and  a  terrible 


14  A  Club  of  One 

cold  is  the  consequence.  I  feel  a  conges- 
tion traveling  up  my  spine  at  a  dangerous 
rate.  Parts  of  me  unknown  to  me  till  now 
are  being  pulled  to  pieces  pitilessly.  The 
eider-down  cushion  presses  hard  against 
my  shoulder  like  the  burden  of  Atlas.  The 
mischief  must  be  driven  out.  Water  !  hot 
water !  The  feet  must  be  boiled.  Ah ! 
Boih  his  an  hour's  boiling,  and  a  few  chapters  of 
Job.  I  feel  better. 

"  Smoothed  the  pillow,  the  throbbing  brain 
Survives  the  pang,  and  sleeps  again." 

A  twitching      Last  night  one  of  my  calves  was  seized 

in  one  of  his        .   ,  ,  ,  .,     ,   .  T 

calves.  with  an  unaccountable  twitching.  It 
seemed  a  forerunner  of  something  serious. 
An  infinite  piercing  followed,  like  ten  thou- 
sand needles.  Piercing,  piercing  —  like 
pins  piercing  a  pippin,  but  with  inexpres- 
sible pain.  It  fairly  took  my  breath  away 
for  a  time.  The  doctor  was  dispatched 
for.  He  came,  but  not  in  a  very  good 

The  brute  of  humor.  The  brute  has  no  feeling.  I  pay 
him  my  dollars  and  he  should  feel  for  my 
woes.  He  listened  —  not  like  a  man  —  not 
even  professionally  —  but  like  an  insen- 
sible machine.  My  blood  boiled  like  ^Etna. 
I  had  no  weapon  to  strike  him  with.  I 
could  see  that  he  questioned  the  descrip- 


A  Club  of  One  75 

tion  I  gave  him  of  my  sufferings.  This 
morning  I  was  better,  thank  the  Lord  ! 
The  stinging,  penetrating  pains  had  left 
me  ;  but  no  thanks  to  the  monster's  dis- 
gusting remedy.  I  didn't  take  his  miser- 

.  .  ,      -  ,        ,  his  bolus. 

able  bolus  —  big  enough  for  an  elephant. 

An   idea !     The   old   Duke  of   Queens-  The  Duke  of 
berry    paid    his    physicians    on    the    plan  aZdcuZZZ 
adopted   by   the   Chinese   emperors,  —  so  pla* 
much  per  week  for  keeping  him  alive.    Ex- 
cellent !  with  the  privilege  of  discharging 
them  at  any  time  for  offensiveness  or  in- 
humanity.   The  creatures  like  money,  and, 
employed  on  that  principle,  they  would  be 
more  apt  to  be  faithful,  encouraging,  and 
sympathizing.     I  have  known  so  many  of 
them,  in  my  long  career  of  distress,  —  of 
every  grade  and  of  every  school,  —  from 
the  Sangrado  type,  with  his  thunder  and 
lightning,  to  the  latest  disciple  of  Hahne- 
mann,  with  his  infinitesimals  and  attenuated 
moonshine,  that,  as  a  necessary  evil,  I  feel 
myself  as  competent  as  any  one  to  judge 
of  them.     Capital !     I   think  I   shall   try  concludes  to 
the  Chinese  and  Queensberry  plan.     My  iryit 
wife  —     But  an  instance  in  point  before  I 
forget  it  (which  deserves  to  be  set  down), 
illustrating  the  profession  —  almost  without 


1 6  A  Club  of  One 

an  exception.  They  are  a  lying,  mercenary 
set.  An  intelligent  friend  of  mine,  broken 
seriously  in  health  by  the  agitations  and 
successes  of  the  civil  war-time,  quitted  his 
comfortable  home  and  large  business,  and 
went  abroad  for  treatment  by  an  eminent 
Paris  physician.  He  did  not  improve,  after 
many  visits  and  prescriptions ;  and  the 
great  doctor,  perceiving  that  his  patient's 
patience  was  failing,  recommended  him 
An°at  'doctor  verv  kindly  to  another  great  doctor  in  Ber- 
in  Berlin.  lin.  My  poor  invalid  friend,  before  pre- 
senting the  letter  of  introduction  he  bore 
with  him,  not  a  little  shaken  in  his  con- 
fidence after  the  long,  unsuccessful  treat- 
ment, had  the  curiosity  and  good  sense  to 
break  the  seal  and  read  the  message.  It 
was  in  good  French  (laconic  enough),  and 
to  this  effect :  "Paris,  Sept.  8,  187-.  My 
dear  Doctor  :  This  will  introduce  to  you 

Mr.  K ,  of  Cincinnati,  United  States  of 

America.  Plenty  of  money.  Nothing  the 
matter  with  him.  Rejoicing  to  send  you 
another  fat  patient,  I  remain  yours,  frater- 
nally. J.  X ."  Rascal  and  hypocrite  ! 

Jonadab  and  Tartuffe  combined.  The  let- 
ter  was  delivered,  but  only  as  a  basis  for 
some  good,  eloquent,  native  -  American 
swearing.  My  friend,  after  lingering  a  few 


A  Club  of  One  77 

weeks  at  Nice  and  Wiesbaden,  returned 
home,  and  soon  recovered  from  his  dan- 
gerous illness,  but  without  the  aid  of  any 
more  distinguished  doctors. 

At  breakfast  this  morning  I  inadver- 
tently  swallowed  a  bit  of  the  skin  of  a 
baked  potato,  about  the  size  of  a  shirt  but- 
ton. It  was  hard  and  chippy,  and  hurt  as  its  teeth  uk 
it  went.  Its  edge  must  have  teeth,  like  a  £«*. 
circular  saw.  I  feel  it  sawing  its  way, 
through  the  thirty  feet  of  passage,  and  the 
fear  is  that  it  may  lodge  in  the  caecum. 
The  idea  is  horrible,  and  hurts  my  poor 
brain  as  the  potato  skin  does  my  imperiled 
stomach.  It  cannot  be  that  a  man  in  my 
disordered  state,  with  such  an  infinity  of 
awful  experiences,  could  have  been  inat- 
tentive or  careless  in  so  important  a  matter 
as  eating.  But  I  must  take  to  inspecting  Determines 
dangerous  articles  of  food  with  a  handglass,  SLJpSL 

,  f  . .     ,  articles  of 

and  arrange  for  a  stronger  light  to  eat  by.  food. 
Two  or  three  ugly  obstructing  fruit  trees 
must  be  cut  down.  Oh  !  Ah  !  Horrors  ! 
The  remorseless  potato  skin  is  ripping  its 
way.  Why  does  n't  the  doctor  come  ?  Lin- 
gering, I  suppose,  stupidly,  at  the  bedside 
of  somebody  that  is  dying,  to  the  neglect 
of  his  patient  who  always  pays  him,  and 


The  doctor 
heartless. 


The  only 
hope.     ' 


i8  A  Club  of  One 

whose  existence  is  of  such  importance  to 
himself.  But,  he  comes  —  the  laggard  ! 
Heartless  again  !  He  does  not  seem  to  be 
so  much  alarmed  as  myself  at  my  situation. 
He  counsels  relaxing  remedies,  and  quiet. 
A  very  slight  change  of  position,  I  feel, 
might  be  fatal.  The  only  hope  is  in  the 
absolute  expulsion  of  the  dangerous  sub- 
stance —  my  poor  stomach  being  too  weak 
to  be  counted  on  as  an  auxiliary.  The 
doctor  is  well-read  in  his  profession,  and 
says  there  is  no  case  of  the  sort  mentioned 
in  the  books  ;  but  the  gravity  of  my  con- 
dition does  not  seem  to  be  appreciated 
by  him.  Anxiety  about  it  ought  to  whiten 
his  hair.  Than  the  fanged  edge  of  a  bit  of 
potato  skin,  there  could  be  nothing  more 
appalling.  The  slightest  movement,  and  I 
A  pang  that  f eel  a  pang  that  is  awful.  The  doctor,  I 

is  aivful.  i   •     i  • 

think,  only  feigns  alarm  ;  but  tries  to  sym- 
pathize, —  which  is  something  unusual. 
His  other  sick  and  dying  patients  must  be 
cared  for  by  his  youthful  copartner  and 
nurses  :  all  the  resources  of  his  wisdom 
and  experience  must  be  expended  on  me. 


The 
iishespar-~ 


It  was  the  design  that  I  should  sleep  late 
this  morning,  but  the  abominable  English 
sparrows  waked  me  long  before  daylight. 


A  Club  of  One  19 

Their  multitudinous  chatter  was  not  only 
disturbing  —  it  was  malicious ;  as  there  can 
be  no  doubt  of  their  happiness  over  my 
miseries.  They  peeped  impishly  through 
every  space  in  the  blinds  big  enough  to 
admit  a  sunbeam.  There  was  something 
Mephistophelean  in  their  mocking  irony. 
Cursed  be  the  man  —  the  enemy  of  the  A  curse  upon, 

.  .  the  man  who 

peace  of  all  civilized  Americans  —  who  im-  imported 
ported  them.  He  should  be  incinerated, 
and  his  ashes  blown  by  the  four  winds  to 
the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  The  de- 
testable little  pests  should  be  exterminated 
by  all  means.  They  have  no  friends  but 
enthusiastic  farmers  and  gardeners,  who 
insist  that  they  live  mainly  on  worms  and 
insects.  And  they  stubbornly  refuse  to 
admit  that  they  drive  away  other  birds  ! 
As  to  that,  however,  I  do  not  care  ;  as,  in 
my  present  humor,  the  destruction  of  all 
birds  would  be  pleasant  enough  to  me. 
Love  for  them,  so  flippantly  expressed,  is  Love  for 
only,  I  believe,  an  affectation.  I  would 
offer  a  generous  premium  for  the  heads  of 
every  hundred  sparrows  ;  or,  what  might 
be  better  and  more  effective,  a  very  large 
sum  to  the  leader  and  authority  in  ladies' 
hats  in  Paris  to  make  them  fashionable, 
as  an  adornment,  for  a  single  season.  By 


20  A  Club  of  One 

whatever  means,  it  is  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance, that  they  should  be  gotten  rid  of. 

Dirty  uttie  They  are  dirty  little  things.  It  is  neces- 
sary for  very  well-dressed  people  to  adopt 
every  precaution  to  protect  themselves 
against  them.  Only  yesterday  a  precious 
decoction  —  mellowing  in  the  sun  —  to  be 
used  as  a  lotion  on  certain  parts  of  my 
poor  body  —  was  incautiously  left  un- 

A  single  covered,  and  a  single  sparrow  defiled  the 
whole  pot.  They  are  too  dirty  to  eat,  or 


whole  pot.  , 

they  would  long  since  have  been  consumed 
by  the  hungry. 

DiscJiarges  Another  crisis.  I  have  been  obliged  to 
discharge  my  doctor.  The  fellow  was  more 
and  more  offensive  to  me,  and  finally  be- 
came unendurable.  So  I  sent  for  him  this 
morning  to  dismiss  him.  The  Satanic  grin 
on  his  face  when  he  came  in  was  some- 
thing exasperating.  His  utter  want  of 
sympathy,  and  growing  tendency  to  say 
disagreeable  and  impertinent  things,  pre- 
pared me  to  be  rude  to  him  ;  but  I  re- 
pressed myself  in  good  taste,  and  begged 
him  to  sit  down.  It  is  a  wonder  the  neces- 
sities of  the  creature  had  not  made  him 
humble,  or  at  least  considerate.  How  a 
man  as  poor  as  he  is  can  be  insolent  to 


A  Club  of  One  21 

those  who  feed   him  is  past  my  compre- 
hension.    He  had  drawn  and  drawn  upon 
me,  till  the  balance  I  owed  him  was  trifling. 
Ever  since  I  asked  him  to  spend  a  night 
with  me  —  a  night  of  unexampled  torture 
—  and  sleep  on  the  comfortable  sofa,  so 
long  the  bed  of  my  poor  departed  dog  — 
he  has  shown  a  very  ugly  disposition  to-  shewed  an 
wards  me,  in  spite  of  his  effort  to  conceal  "ion. 
it.     His  ridiculous  pride,   I  suppose,  was 


piqued  by  the  proposition  ;  but  what  busi- 
ness has  a  poor  devil  of  a  doctor  with 
pride,  I  should  like  to  know.  Pride  is  a 
luxury  appropriate  to  the  opulent.  And 
the  smell  of  tobacco  always  in  his  cloth- 
ing was  as  offensive  to  me  as  his  cursed 
haughtiness.  Some  outdoor  air  had  to  be 
let  in  after  his  visits  to  dissipate  the 
poison,  which  as  often  endangered  my  ex- 
istence. The  disgust  of  my  olfactories  at 
tobacco  is  serious  enough,  but  the  rude 
shock  of  the  freezing  air  off  the  snow- 
covered  earth  is  deadly.  The  relief  that  I  Relief  in  B+ 
feel  in  being  rid  of  the  miserable  creature  3L  ^ 
might  be  considered  a  feeble  counterfeit  of 
pleasure,  if  such  a  visitation  were  not  im- 
possible to  an  enduring  sufferer  like  me. 

The   regular  vexation.      The   quarterly 


22  A  Club  of  One 

bill  of  the  apothecary  is  just  in.  A  man 
tLyapoth-  of  less  experience  in  such  things  would  be 
driven  to  madness  by  them.  The  many 
items,  and  the  swindling  aggregate  !  It 
would  not  do  to  question  the  rascality, 
as  being  robbed  is  preferable  to  being 
gossiped  about  by  the  robber.  I  very  well 
Compact  of  understand  the  compact  of  villainy  exist- 
ing between  the  druggists  and  the  doctors. 
The  profits  on  the  detestable  drugs  are  so 
enormous  that  the  druggist  can  well  afford 
to  pay  the  doctor  an  enormous  per  cent, 
on  his  prescriptions.  I  have  heard  in- 
credible stories  of  their  petty  partnership 
meannesses,  which  have  been  more  than 
confirmed  by  my  own  unfortunate  experi- 
ence. An  article  not  worth  a  dime  is 
charged  a  dollar  for.  A  Latin  name  for  a 
nothing  makes  it  something,  and  dignifies 
the  swindle.  No  wonder  the  apothecary 
rides  in  his  carriage,  and  impecunious  doc- 
tors, like  the  one  I  have  just  discharged, 
Pocketfuisof  carry  pocketfuls  of  Habanas.  The  latter 
have  only  to  supply  themselves,  at  con- 
venience, from  the  cases  of  the  generous 
druggists  who  compound  their  prescrip- 
tions. The  thing  has  been  (or  something 
like  it)  from  Hippocrates,  and  will  be,  till 
the  crack  of  doom.  A  check  for  it  only 


A  Club  of  One  23 

settles  the  bill  for  the  quarter,  —  it  does 
not  check  the  villainy,  but  encourages  it, 
It  seems,  indeed,  unpleasantly  like  com- 
pounding it.  But  I  am  a  poor  reformer. 
I  hate  reformers. 

This  morning  I  had  the  plain  glass  re-  Blue  glass 
moved  from  the  south  windows  and  the 
blue  glass  put  in  :  the  sash-frames  contain- 
ing it,  I  mean.  Temporary  only,  of  course, 
as  the  influence  of  the  blue  light  is  too 
stimulating  to  me  to  be  risked  long  at  a 


time.  I  have  tried  it  thoroughly,  and  be-  " 
come  convinced  of  its  singular  efficacy. 
Pleasonton,  perhaps,  claims  too  much  for 
it,  but  blue  glass,  none  the  less,  is  a  bene- 
faction. Some  of  my  most  distressing  ail- 
ments have  been  relieved  by  it.  Care,  of 
course,  must  be  exercised  in  its  use,  as  ex- 
cess, I  know,  would  be  hurtful.  I  wonder 
its  supreme  value  as  a  remedial  agent  has 
not  been  more  generally  acknowledged, 
As  a  stimulant,  merely,  it  is  wonderful. 
Upon  me,  as  such,  its  effect  is  supernatural. 
I  sit  now  (not  too  far  from  the  window) 
with  the  supernal  light  pouring  over  me. 
It  influences  me  so  —  is  so  stimulating  — 
that  I  thought  a  moment  ago  I  could  de- 
tect something  like  an  impulse  of  pleasant- 


24  A  Club  of  One 

ness  in  my  being.  An  effect  like  that,  — 
with  nothing  of  the  violent  or  spasmodic 
in  it,  —  I  am  prepared  to  say,  is  next  to 
miraculous.  Blessed  be  blue  glass  !  It  is 
impossible  to  estimate  its  value  to  civiliza- 
tion and  mankind.  Systems  of  education, 
systems  of  philosophy,  of  medicine,  of  re- 
ligion even,  may  be  upturned  by  it.  We 
do  not  think  of  the  remarkable  influence 
that  color  exerts  upon  the  character  and 
influence  of  conduct  of  men.  Rosch  and  Esquirol  af- 
character  firm  that  dyers  of  scarlet  become  choleric 

and  conduct.  J 

by  virtue  of  occupation  alone.  I  am  satis- 
fied that  the  extraordinary  growth  that 
man  would  attain  —  intellectual  and  moral, 
as  well  as  physical  —  by  judicious  and 
scientific  use  of  blue  glass  would  be  mar- 
velous. We  can  yet  only  begin  to  conjec- 
ture —  much  less  to  know  —  the  universal 
benefits  to  result  from  the  great  discovery. 

Indulgence,  as  usual,  is  followed  by  evil 
TOO  much     effects.      I  spent  too  many  hours  in  the 

blue  glass.  . 

blue  light,  and  am  suffering  from  the  con- 
sequences. Four  or  five  hours  is  the  ut- 
most that  I  have  been  accustomed  to  risk 
in  it,  but  yesterday  I  extended  the  time  to 
six.  The  effect  of  the  excess  was  alarm- 
ing. A  flush  of  exaltation  came  upon  me 


A  Club  of  One  25 

like  a  paroxysm.  I  hurried  on  my  blue 
flannel,  which,  as  a  precaution,  I  always 
use  to  let  myself  gently  down  to  normal 
wretchedness,  that  nature  at  last  seems  to 
have  suited  me  better  to  endure  than  com- 
parative comfort  even  —  to  say  nothing  of 
happiness.  The  blue  flannel  I  find  very  Efficacy  of 

-    .,  ,.     .  .  blwftamiel. 

safe,  following  the  blue  light ;  they  seem 
indeed,  in  a  manner,  to  be  concurrent 
remedies.  And  as  a  further  precaution, 
after  several  hours  in  the  blue  rays,  I  sleep 
for  a  night  or  two  between  blue  blankets.  Blue  bian- 
They  are  an  invention  of  my  own,  and  a 
perfect  specific.  Though  last  night  my 
faith  in  them  was  a  little  shaken,  as  they 
did  not  quite  prevent  the  always  to  be 
apprehended  aches  that  are  almost  sure 
to  follow  a  course  of  blue  glass  —  aches 
that  my  mother  used  to  call,  to  her  com- 
plaining children,  "  growing  pains  "  —  sure 
evidences  of  the  prodigious  value  of  the 
discovery  as  an  elixir  and  vivifier.  Ac- 
companying the  "pains"  were  visions  and  visions  and 

.  .  .      ..  .  schemes. 

schemes,  numerous  and  varied  —  such  as 
disturb  the  heads  of  youth,  and  make  them 
anxious  to  try  themselves  in  the  "muddle  " 
of  life.  It  seems  a  thousand  years  since  I 
first  learned  that  the  former  meant  growth 
and  the  latter  hope  —  anticipating  man- 


26  A  Club  of  One 

hood.  I  dreamed  of  the  time  agone,  with 
a  feeling  suggestive  of  something  faintly 
like  pleasure  :  — 

"  I  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields  traversed  so  oft, 

In  life's  morning  march  when  my  bosom  was  young  ; 
I  heard  my  own  mountain  goats  bleating  aloft, 
And  knew  the   sweet  strain  that  the  corn-reapers 
sung  "  :  — 

but  questioned  my  identity  at  the  same 
time.  That  a  hopeful  boy  should  have 
become  so  miserable  a  man  seemed  im- 
possible —  against  nature.  Over  and  over 
I  turned  in  my  bed,  a  hundred  times  —  re- 
sisting, as  I  best  could,  the  aches  and  pains, 
and  schemes  and  visions.  The  result  of 
it  all  is,  a  miserable  condition,  and  I  have 
sends  for  sent  for  a  doctor,  —  the  best  that  I  could 
doct*r.  think  of  in  acute  and  dangerous  cases.  I 
hope,  at  least,  that  he  is  not  a  donkey  and 
an  ignoramus,  to  torment  me  as  his  pred- 
ecessor did. 

some  otser-       I  think  I  can  tolerate  my  new  doctor. 

vations  upon  , 

the  new  doc-  He  seems  intelligent,  with  the  instincts  of 
a  gentleman.  The  longer  we  talked  the 
more  I  perceived  his  penetration.  As  Em- 
erson said  of  Goethe,  he  seemed  to  see  out 
of  every  pore  of  his  skin.  His  language 
shows  him  to  be  a  scholar,  and  I  hope  he 


A  Club  of  One  27 

has  some  general  knowledge  of  literature. 
In  that  case  I  need  not  repress  a  tendency 
to  literary  reference,  as  he  will  understand 
me  when  I  talk.  It  seems  a  shame  that 
the  hundred  worthies  on  my  shelves  should 
be  silent  —  being  never  referred  to,  or  en- 
couraged to  speak.  As  we  conversed,  I 
noticed  that  his  eye  ran  over  them  with 
an  expression  of  intelligence  and  enthusi- 
asm. I  die  for  fitting  companionship. 
The  sordidness  of  men  !  How  they  are 
wrapped  up  in  themselves  and  their  little 
interests  !  A  wise  doctor  should  be  wise  Requisites 
in  everything.  He  should  know  men  — 
all  sorts  of  men.  In  questions  of  race  he  ** 
should  see  behind  and  before  —  progenitors 
and  inheritors  alike.  Philosophies  and  re- 
ligions should  be  familiar  to  him.  Books 
and  their  makers  should  be  the  objects  of 
his  affectionate  regard.  He  should,  like 
Lamb,  kiss  a  volume  of  Burns  with  ten- 
derness, and  bow  with  reverence  before 
Shakespeare  or  Bacon.  This  man,  to  some 
extent,  seems  to  be  the  possessor  of  such 
a  sentiment.  His  intelligence  has  the  re- 
flection of  breadth  and  the  look  of  wisdom. 
His  apparent  liberality  of  judgment  seems 
to  be  the  result  of  facile  intercourse  with 
various  minds.  The  commerce  of  intellect, 


28  A  Club  of  One 

it  is  truly  said,  loves  distant  shores.  The 
small  retail  dealer  trades  only  with  his 
neighbors  ;  when  the  great  merchants  trade, 
they  link  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  In 

Four  great  Brooklyn,  one  night,  I  met  four  such.  They 
seemed  to  have  been  everywhere  and  to 
have  seen  everything.  They  talked,  not  of 
processes,  but  of  results.  Every  sentence 
was  freighted  with  wisdom,  and  was  com- 
pact enough  for  a  proverb.  Their  eyes  as 
well  as  their  minds  seemed  to  have  a  meas- 
uring and  weighing  habit.  This  man,  of 
course,  is  not  a  man  of  that  type.  If  he 
were,  he  would  not  be  a  drudging  doctor. 

Manner  of    His    considerate    and     attentive    manner 

the  new  phy-  , 

pleases  me.  It  cannot  be  wholly  the  re- 
sult of  training.  Selfish,  no  doubt,  he  is  ; 
everybody  is  that.  If  he  is  prompt,  sub- 
missive, and  faithful,  I  shall  try  to  put  up 
with  the  objectionable  in  him  as  it  de- 
velops.  His  head,  I  believe,  is  more  than 
an  average  one ;  but  his  heart  —  of  what 
quality  and  composition  is  that  ?  Is  there 
feeling  in  it  ?  —  red  blood  ?  —  the  blood  of 
a  man  ?  If  when  I  groan  or  cry  out  in  a 
paroxysm  of  pain  the  laughing  machinery 
should  play  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
I  should  feel  like  killing  him.  I  will  not 
be  gibed  at  by  a  monkey  of  a  doctor.  The 


A  Club  of  One  29 

way  he  dusts  his  feet  and  lifts  his  hat  and 
removes  his  gloves  is  in  his  favor.  He  is  not 
constantly  stroking  his  beard  and  clearing 
his  throat  in  a  Sir  Oracle  way.  The  per-  The  per- 

J  fumery  he 

fumery  he  uses  ;  I  cannot  quite  make  out  «*«• 
what  it  is.  It  is  not  agreeable,  and  not 
quite  disgusting.  I  shall  have  to  ask  him 
the  ingredients  of  the  stuff.  You  cannot 
guess  from  the  smell.  A  dung-hill  at  a 
distance,  said  Coleridge,  sometimes  smells 
like  musk,  and  a  dead  dog  like  elder-flowers. 
He  is  a  believer  in  blue  glass,  I  am  pleased  A  believer  * 
to  know,  and  carries  his  faith  to  the  point 
of  devotion.  Blue  glass  he  unqualifiedly 
pronounces  a  good  thing  ;  but  believes  with 
me  that,  as  with  every  other  good  thing, 
one  may  have  too  much  of  it.  My  blue 
woolens,  as  a  gradient,  so  to  speak,  or  anti- 
dote for  excess,  he  is  in  raptures  over  — 
especially  the  blue  blankets.  He  promised 
me  to  think  profoundly  of  the  general  sub- 
ject of  blue  woolens,  as  an  auxiliary  in  the  Biwwooi- 
blue  glass  treatment,  and  make  such  sug- 
gestions as  to  shades  of  the  same  as  might 
occur  to  his  scientific  judgment. 

It  rains,  and   it   rains!     The   beautiful  it  rains. 
rain  !     The  clouds  go  rolling  round,  like 
big  black  sponges,   squeezing  themselves 


jo  A  Club  of  One 

out  on  the  chimney  pots.  The  gutters  run 
ink.  There  are  people  to  say  it  is  dread- 
ful. But  I  like  it ;  it  is  in  harmony  with 
my  feelings.  I  hate  what  they  call  cheer- 
fulness. Irving' s  description  of  a  rainy  day 
is  one  of  his  best  productions.  It  makes 
dreariness  attractive.  Happiness,  after  all, 
is,  I  believe,  but  a  bit  of  acting.  Life  is 
not  a  comedy  —  it  is  a  tragedy.  No  life 
is  satisfactory.  "  Youth,"  says  Beacons- 
field,  "  is  a  blunder,  manhood  a  struggle, 
old  age  a  regret."  The  most  fortunate  are 
disappointed.  Stephen,  in  the  story,  un- 
derstood it :  "  'T  is  a'  a  muddle."  The  Jap- 
anese have  a  proverb  that  epitomizes  the 
unsatisfactoriness  of  life :  "  If  you  hate  a 
man,  let  him  live."  Their  little  children,  in 
school,  are  taught  to  repeat  a  verse  which 
in  English  would  run  in  this  wise  :  — 

"  Color  and  perfume  vanish  away. 
What  can  be  lasting  in  this  world  ? 
To-day  disappears  in  the  abyss  of  nothingness ; 
It  is  but  the  passing  image  of  a  dream,  and  causes 
only  a  slight  trouble." 

Vanity  of  vanities,  saith  the  preacher ;  all  is 
studies  vanity.  It  is  on  a  day  like  this  that  I  partic- 
ularly like  Dante's  Inferno  (the  other  parts 
of  the  Comedy  I  do  not  like).  Gary's  trans- 
lation, with  Dore's  illustrations,  is  delight 


A  Club  of  One  31 

ful ;  though  I  do  not  like  the  text  so  well 
as  John  Carlyle's  literal  rendering.  In  the 
latter  you  get  at  the  sense,  as  in  Hay- 
ward's  translation  of  Faust.  Scholars,  I 
think,  should  translate  poetry,  not  poets. 
The  Iliad  of  Pope  is  confirmation.  Pope's  BUS  of  era 

,     icism. 

genius  is  conspicuous :  not  quite  so  much 
so  as  Homer's  :  Homer  you  never  quite 
lose  sight  of.  Carlyle's  Inferno  is  Dante's ; 
you  never  think  of  the  Scotchman.  And 
it  is  a  very  Murray's  as  a  guide-book.  I 
make  free  use  of  it.  There  are  two  of  you 
with  Virgil.  You  go  at  leisure  through  the 
pleasant  scenes.  You  read  the  inscription  inscription 

over  the 

over  the  gate  as  you  enter  :  "  Through  me  gate. 
is  the  way  into  the  doleful  city ;  through 
me  the  way  into  the  eternal  pain  ;  through 
me  the  way  among  the  people  lost.  Jus- 
tice moved  my  High  Maker ;  Divine  Power 
made  me,  Wisdom  Supreme,  and  Primal 
Love.  Before  me  were  no  things  created, 
but  eternal  I  endure.  Leave  all  hope,  ye 
that  enter."  You  cross  the  river  Acheron. 
On  its  shore  all  that  die  under  the  wrath  of 
God  assemble  from  every  country  to  be 
ferried  over  by  Charon.  He  makes  them 
enter  his  boat  by  glaring  on  them  with  his 
burning  eyes.  You  go  into  Limbo.  The  Limbo. 
only  pain  the  spirits  there  suffer  is,  that 


^2  A  Club  of  One 

they  live  in  the  desire  and  without  the  hope 

of  seeing  God.     You  come  into  the  pres- 

T/W  infer-     ence  of  the  Infernal  Judge.     "  There  Minos 

nal judge. 

sits  horrific,  and  grins  ;  examines  the  crimes 
upon  the  entrance ;  judges,  and  sends  ac- 
cording as  he  girds  himself.  When  the  ill- 
born  spirit  comes  before  him,  it  confesses 
all ;  and  that  sin-discerner  sees  what  place 
in  hell  is  fit  for  it,  and  with  his  tail  makes 
as  many  circles  round  himself  as  the  de- 
grees he  will  have  it  to  descend.  Always 
before  him  stands  a  crowd  of  them.  They 
go  each  in  its  turn  to  judgment ;  they  tell, 
and  hear;  and  then  are  whirled  down." 
criticises  Sublime  dignity  !  Dore's  picture,  it  strikes 

DorPspic-  J 

*<re.  me,  is  not  a  good  one.  He  makes  the  tail 
of  the  Judge  a  serpent,  and  does  not  con- 
ceal the  head.  An  oversight,  I  should 
think,  of  the  artist.  You  go  thence  into 
the  place  appointed  for  epicures  and  glut- 
tons, who  set  their  hearts  upon  the  lowest 
species  of  sensual  gratification.  An  un- 
varying, eternal  storm  of  heavy  hail,  foul 
water,  and  snow,  pour  down  upon  them. 
They  are  lying  prostrate  on  the  ground ; 

Cerberus,  and  the  three-headed  monster  Cerberus 
keeps  barking  over  them,  and  rending 
them.  Dore's  conception,  in  one  of  the 
heads,  is  perfect.  Hell  itself  (of  the  sen- 


A  Club  of  One  33 

sual)  is  in  the  face.  It  is  besotted,  as  well 
as  merciless.  Thence  to  the  region  of  the 
prodigal  and  the  avaricious.  Plutus  is  at 
the  entrance,  with  "  clucking  voice."  Vir- 
gil speaks  to  him  :  "  Peace,  cursed  wolf  ! 
Consume  thyself  internally  with  thy  greedy 
rage."  "  As  sails,  swelled  by  the  wind, 
fall  entangled  when  the  mast  gives  way ; 
so  fell  that  cruel  monster  to  the  ground." 
Disgusting  creature,  as  he  sits  crouching 
out  of  view.  The  artist's  genius  is  con- 
spicuous in  the  figure.  The  greediness  of 
the  eyes  is  avarice  itself.  In  the  next  pic- 

J  *  gal  and  the 

ture  he  vividly  depicts  the  prodigal  and  the  avaricious. 
avaricious:  they  are  forever  rolling  great 
weights,  and  forever  smiting  each  other. 
"  To  all  eternity  they  shall  continue  butting 
one  another."  Every  muscle  seems  to  be 
breaking.  Thence  across  the  broad  marsh, 
in  the  fifth  circle,  where  ostentation,  arro- 
gance, and  brutal  anger  are  punished,  to 
the  "  joyless  city  "  of  Dis.  We  cross  a  The  joyless 

.    .  ..  ,        .,,      ,  .  ,    ,  city  of  Dis. 

plain,  all  covered  with  burning  sepulchres. 
Tongues  of  fiercer  flame  speak  out  of  them. 
And  so  on  we  go,  and  on,  we  three,  by  the 
river  of  blood,  past  the  obscene  harpies,  to 
the  plain  of  burning  sand,  where  an  eter- 
nal shower  of  fire  is  falling ;  on  again  to 
the  crimson  stream  that  runs  down  to  the 


34  A  Club  of  One 

centre  of  hell,  when  a  strange  and  mon- 
strous shape  comes  swimming  up  through 

Geryon.  the  dark  air.  It  is  Geryon,  the  uncleanly 
image  of  Fraud.  "  His  face  was  the  face 
of  a  just  man,  so  mild  an  aspect  had  it  out- 
wardly ;  the  rest  was  all  a  reptile's  body." 
Upon  the  "  haunch  of  the  dreadful  animal " 
we  mount,  and  are  conveyed  down  to  the 
eighth  circle.  He  moves  himself  with  many 
a  sweeping  round,  and,  setting  us  down, 
bounds  off,  "  like  an  arrow  from  the  string." 

Flatterers,    On  the  way,  we  see  flatterers,  "  immersed 

can.'*  in  filth,"  and  panders,  and  lying  seducers, 
hurrying  along  —  meeting  one  another  — 
all  naked,  and  scourged  by  horned  demons. 
We  stop  not  to  see  the  peculators,  and  as- 
sassins, and  tyrants,  but  take  a  look  at  the 

The  'wicked  "  wicked  hell-bird  "  on  the  margin  of  the 
boiling  pitch  —  glaring,  ready  to  strike. 

The  hypo-  The  hypocrites  are  interesting,  as  they 
walk  in  slow  procession,  heavy  laden  with 
cloaks  of  lead,  which  are  gilded  and  of  daz- 
zling brilliancy  on  the  outside.  A  thief, 
with  a  load  of  serpents  on  his  haunch  and 
a  fiery  dragon  on  his  shoulders,  comes  shout- 
ing along.  The  shadow  of  Mahomet,  rent 
asunder  from  the  chin  downward,  displays 
the  conscious  vileness  and  corruption  of  his 
doctrines.  From  the  arch  of  the  tenth 


A  Club  of  One  35 

chasm  are  heard  the  wailings  of  falsifiers  of 
every  kind.  Thence  along  the  brim  of  the 
Pit,  to  mighty  Antaeus,  who  takes  us  in  his 
arms  and  sets  us  down  "into  the  bottom  of 
all  guilt,"  or  lowest  part  of  hell,  where 
eternal  cold  freezes  and  locks  up  Cocytus, 
the  marsh  that  receives  all  its  rivers.  Here 
is  Cain,  who  killed  his  brother  Abel.  Then 
to  the  end — the  last  circle  of  Cocytus, 
which  takes  its  name  (Judecca)  from  Judas 
Iscariot,  and  gaze  in  admiration  at  the 
arch-traitor  Satan  himself,  "  Emperor  of  Satan  him- 
the  Realm  of  Sorrow."  He  too  is  pursued 
by  his  own  sin.  All  the  streams  of  guilt  streams  of 
keep  flowing  back  to  him,  as  their  source,  SjLST 
and  from  beneath  his  three  faces  (shadows 
of  his  own  consciousness)  issue  forth  the 
mighty  wings  with  which  he  struggles,  as 
it  were,  to  raise  himself ;  and  sends  out 
winds  that  freeze  him  only  the  more  firmly 
in  his  ever  swelling  marsh.  "  From  Beelze- 
bub as  far  removed  as  his  tomb  extends  is  a 
space,  not  known  by  sight  but  by  the  sound 
of  a  rivulet  descending  in  it,  along  the  hol- 
low of  a  rock  which  it  has  eaten  out  with 
tortuous  course  and  slow  declivity."  We 
enter  by  that  hidden  road,  to  return  into  Return  to 
the  bright  world  :  mounting  up  through  "  a  world? 
round  opening  the  beauteous  things  which 


j6  A  Club  of  One 

Heaven  bears ; "  and  thence  we  issue  out, 
"again  to  see  the  stars." 

continues         All  honor  to  Dore"  for  his  pictures  of 

the  study  of 

Dante.  Antaeus  !  They  are  tremendous,  —  the 
mighty  conceptions  of  genius.  But  he  did 
not  attempt  the  Devil !  After  his  success 
with  the  poet,  in  the  frontispiece,  I  wonder 
that  he  hesitated.  There  is  gloom  there 
that  is  profound.  It  is  not  at  all  strange 
that  the  people  should  have  pointed  at  the 
man  with  such  a  face,  and  said  to  one  an- 
other as  he  passed  along,  "  There  goes  the 
man  who  has  been  in  hell."  The  Knight 
of  The  Sorrowful  Countenance  had  a  smil- 
ing face  compared  with  the  poet  of  the 
damned.  Pictures  so  vivid  and  interesting 
as  these  of  Dore's  it  is  an  enjoyment  to 
study.  He  should  have  illustrated  a  pas- 
sage  in  Heine  that  is  so  Dantesque  in  de- 
scription. It  is  of  a  remarkable  quarrel  in 
a  little  hospital  at  Cracow  where  he  was  an 
accidental  spectator,  where  it  was  interest- 
ing to  hear  the  sick  mocking  and  revil- 
ing each  other's  infirmities,  how  emaciated 
consumptives  ridiculed  those  who  were 
bloated  with  dropsy,  how  one  laughed  at 
the  cancer  in  the  nose  of  another,  and 
he  again  jeered  the  locked  jaws  and  dis- 


A  Club  of  One  37 

torted  eyes  of  his  neighbor,  until  finally 
those  who  were  mad  with  fever  sprang 
naked  from  bed,  and  tore  the  coverings 
and  sheets  from  the  maimed  bodies  around, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  mis- 
ery and  mutilation.  Strange  !  that  the  lit-  Face  of  the 
erary  outlaw  who  describes  to  us  so  faith-  lam^ 
fully  the  scene  should  have  had  a  face  full 
of  all  tenderness  —  as  youthful  and  beauti- 
ful as  Keats'  or  Hunt's.  And  so  I  go  on, 
on  —  curiously  and  reflectingly  —  lingering 
over  the  matchless  achievement  of  the 
poet  and  the  illustrations  of  the  artist.  I 
contemplate  the  miserable,  and  participate 
in  their  wretchedness.  In  an  access  of  Abnormal 
abnormal  misery,  such  as  comes  to  me  *" 
often  in  these  later  days  of  unendurable 
existence,  I  feel  myself  hardly  less  wretched 
than  the  miserable  I  have  been  contem- 
plating. Hence  the  interest  I  cannot  help 
expressing.  It  is  but  community  of  feel- 
ing. Proverbially,  misery  loves  company. 
Goldsmith  expressed  the  necessity  in  a  Goldsmith 
letter  to  Bob  Bryanton,  though  the  gentle 
Goldsmith's  misery,  I  imagine,  must  have 
been  more  a  matter  of  fancy  than  of  reality. 
"You,"  said  he,  "seem  placed  at  the  cen- 
tre of  fortune's  wheel,  and,  let  it  revolve 
ever  so  fast,  are  insensible  to  the  motion. 


38  A  Club  of  One 

I  seem  to  have  been  tied  to  the  circum- 
ference, and  whirled  disagreeably  around 
as  if  on  a  whirligig.'*  To  another,  about 
the  same  time,  he  wrote,  "  I  have  been  for 
some  years  struggling  with  a  wretched 
being.  What  has  a  jail  that  is  formidable  ? 
I  shall  at  least  have  the  society  of  wretches, 
and  such  is  to  me  true  society."  The 
of  wailings  of  the  damned  take  the  tone  of 

the  damned.  .  .         . 

my  own  sufferings.  Their  miseries  are 
real,  and  not  fanciful.  They  are  fated, 
too,  and  sympathy  expended  upon  them  is 
wasted.  Their  pains  are  penalties ;  mine, 
I  feel,  are  vengeful  and  causeless.  Enough 
perdition  here,  certainly,  for  me.  Paradise 
only  could  compensate.  An  infinity  of  de- 
light must  balance  a  life-time  of  anguish. 
The  damned,  consequently,  I  can  hear  howl 
and  rage  without  being  distressed.  Justice 
doomed  them,  and  the  divine  wrath  is  un- 
Heiianeces-  quenchable  and  immutable.  Hell  is  a  ne- 
cessity. As  I  go  through,  with  Dante,  I 
find  places  for  my  enemies.  Those  who 
take  pains  so  far  to  conceal  and  qualify 
their  obduracy  and  selfishness  as  to  now 
and  then  make  a  show  of  sympathy  for 
me,  I  can  imagine  in  the  presence  of  the 
Infernal  Judge,  confessing  themselves,  and 
being  whirled  down,  according  as  the  coils 


A  Club  of  One  59 

of  the  remorseless  tail  determine,  to  suffer 
and  writhe  with  the  multitude  of  their 
fellows,  ever  and  ever,  without  hope.  And 
here  I  cannot  help  remarking  upon  some-  Something 

*•  '  very  tnter- 

thing  very  interesting  in  the  poet.  Time  estmg  in  the 
and  again  he  seems  touched  by  the  wretch- 
edness he  encounters,  and  gives  unmistak- 
able sign  of  sympathy.  As  in  the  case  of 
meeting  the  impulsive  and  surprised  lov- 
ers, Francesca  and  Paolo  :  he  fell  to  the 
ground  as  if  dead,  when  he  heard  their 
painful  story :  though  the  manifestation 
may  have  been  to  a  degree  selfish,  as  the 
sigh  of  Francesca —  "  There  is  no  greater 
pain  than  to  recall  a  happy  time  in  wretch- 
edness "  —  must  have  reminded  him  of  his 
sainted  Beatrice.  "  I  fainted,"  he  says,  Beatrice. 
"  with  pity,  as  if  I  had  been  dying ;  and 
fell,  as  a  dead  body  falls."  The  weakness 
was  natural  in  view  of  the  painful  remem- 
brance. All  in  all,  I  think  the  historian 
and  poet  of  hell  would  have  been  com- 
panionable to  me.  He  could  have  under- 
stood my  distresses,  and  entered  deeply 
into  the  bottomless  abysses  of  my  anguish. 
When  I  groaned,  his  wisdom  would  pene- 
trate the  cause.  When  I  writhed,  his  ob-  The  poet  of 
servations  of  the  damned  would  diagnose 
the  paroxysm.  When  the  universal  pain 


40  A  Club  of  One 

prostrated  me,  as  Pascal  was  prostrated, 
hopelessly,  his  quick  sense  of  misery  could 
conjecture  the  incalculable  endurance.  But 
I  must  live  on,  I  suppose,  to  the  end,  with- 
out intelligent  and  proper  sympathy.  The 
common  mind  and  common  heart  are  in- 
capable of  it.  It  would  require  a  genius  of 
observation  in  misery  and  the  heart  of  a 
celestial  to  properly  sympathize  with  me. 

The  time  I  spent  at  my  desk  day  before 
by  writing.    yesterdav  and  the  dav  before  that  about 

exhausted  me.  Time  was  when  I  could 
write  and  write,  without  limit.  The  words 
ran  away  from  my  pen  with  the  flowing 
ink.  At  a  time,  too,  when  I  had  nothing 
to  say.  I  had  not  learned  to  unlearn  what 
I  had  learned,  and  knew  nothing.  We 
gather  and  throw  away  as  we  ascend  and 
descend  the  hill  of  life  (wisdom  I  will  not 
The  uttie  call  it).  Once  I  saw  a  little  child,  in  swad- 
dling clothes,  on  the  floor.  Some  one  gave 
it  a  big  red  marble  (too  big  to  put  into  its 
mouth),  which  it  took  in  one  hand  ;  then 
another  marble  was  given  to  it,  which  it 
took  with  the  other.  Hardly  had  the  little 
thing  time  to  realize  its  possessions,  when 
a  bright  golden  one  appeared  to  vex  it. 
There  were  three  marbles,  now,  and  it 


A  Club  of  One  41 

had  but  two  hands.  Another  and  another 
and  another  was  presented  to  it.  What 
was  it  to  do  ?  It  dropped  and  seized  and  w 
seized  and  dropped,  till,  exhausted  by  its  ef- 
forts, it  fell  asleep  —  the  coveted  marbles 
rolling  away  —  not  one  of  them  all  remain- 
ing in  its  possession.  So  it  is  with  all, — at 
the  top  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  of  life  : 
empty  -  handed  as  the  little  child  —  the 
same  at  the  end  as  at  the  beginning.  Now, 
when  I  have  something  to  say,  I  have  not 
the  strength  to  say  it.  Literary  schemes 
dreamed  out,  all  had  to  be  abandoned.  I 
had  at  one  time  something  very  compen- 
dious in  contemplation.  Years  of  effort 
would  have  been  necessary  to  achieve  it. 
Long  ago  I  destroyed  all  vestiges  of  prep- 
aration. Note-books  and  note-books  went  Note-books 
into  the  fire,  and  a  large  part  of  my  cher- 
ished hopes  went  with  them.  They  were 
so  much  of  myself.  The  batteries  of  the 
brain  —  how  many  !  —  had  been  operated 
to  produce  them.  The  brain  !  The  mi- 
nuteness of  its  parts  and  the  magnitude  of 
its  achievements  !  A  billion  of  the  starry 
brain-cells,  says  Holmes,  could  be  packed 
in  a  cubic  inch,  and  the  convolutions  con- 
tain one  hundred  and  thirty -four  cubic 
inches  !  Going  too  long,  the  great  scheme 


The  great 

scheme 

aborted. 


"He  is 
dead  I" 


42  A  Club  of  One 

aborted.  The  loss  of  the  half  -  formed 
thing  left  a  void  that  has  never  been  filled. 
Empty  seemed  everything  for  a  space,  and 
the  ruin  it  made  has  many  a  time  reminded 
me  of  the  lady  on  the  point  of  marriage, 
whose  intended  husband  usually  traveled 
by  the  stage-coach  to  visit  her.  She  went 
one  day  to  meet  him,  and  found  instead  of 
him  an  old  friend  who  came  to  announce 
to  her  the  tidings  of  his  sudden  death. 
She  uttered  a  scream,  and  piteously  ex- 
claimed, "He  is  dead!"  But  then  all 
consciousness  of  the  affliction  that  had  be- 
fallen her  ceased.  "  From  that  fatal  mo- 
ment," says  the  recorder  of  the  incident, 
"  this  unfortunate  female  daily  for  fifty 
years,  in  all  seasons,  traversed  the  distance 
of  a  few  miles  to  the  spot  where  she  ex- 
pected her  future  husband  to  alight  from 
.the  coach  ;  and  every  day  she  uttered  in  a 
plaintive  tone,  '  He  is  not  come  yet !  I 
will  return  to-morrow  ! ' '  My  poor  wasted 
preparatory  effort  is  dead,  buried,  —  I  wish 
The  solemn  it  could  be  forgotten.  A  record  of  the 

entombment.         .  ... 

solemn  entombment  is  inscribed  in  all  the 
waste  places  remaining.  And  here  I  am 
writing  about  the  figment,  when  I  ought 
to  be  in  bed  between  my  blue  blankets. 
My  wife  — 


A  Club  of  One  43 

Incautiously  a  section  of  the  blinds  was 
left  open,  and  the  blazing  sun  waked  me  " 
long  before  my  accustomed  time  to  rise. 
"  Sun  !  how  I  hate  thy  beams  !  "  once  ex- 
claimed Dr.  Johnson,  —  I  imagine  under 
similar  circumstances.  I  quoted  the  lexi- 
cographer with  emphasis.  The  sun  !  —  it 
makes  everything  too  visible ;  and  the 
Doctor,  with  his  enthusiasm  of  sadness,  and 
observation,  which,  "  with  extensive  view," 
had  surveyed  "  mankind  from  China  to 
Peru,"  was  moved  by  disquieting  disclos- 
ures. In  the  shadows  only,  and  through  observation 

,       ,        .  .  -      .  andintro- 

smoked  glass,  as  it  were,  men  of  the  type 
of  the  Doctor  should  scan  themselves  and 
their  fellow  mortals.  Too  much  light  is  ex- 
posing, as  a  slab  of  wood  turned  over  on  a 
bright  sunshiny  day  in  June  reveals  a  mul- 
titude of  hideous  creatures,  of  manifold 
kinds,  which  scamper  and  crawl  away  in 
terror  at  the  sun's  all-seeing  rays. 

I  am  vexed  to  madness.  A  fellow  with  infuriated 
a  horn  in  a  top  room  of  a  tall  building  in 
the  neighborhood  was  tugging  and  tugging 
away  for  hours  last  night  at  a  few  notes  of 
detestable  "  Shoo  Fly,"  to  the  annoyance 
or  horror  of  every  one  who  heard,  over  and 
over,  ever  and  ever,  the  same  miserable 


44  A  Club  of  One 

few  notes.  The  rascal,  blowing  so  hard 
and  exhaustingly,  had  to  have  air  in  abun- 
dance,  so  his  two  windows  were  wide  open, 

wide  often. 

and  the  diabolical  sounds  produced  by  his 
instrument  had  free  exit  and  opportunity 
for  torture  without  stint.  It  is  a  wonder 
that  Dante,  in  all  the  regions  of  the 
damned,  found  no  place  for  horn-blowers. 
^»  «*?»£*•  "  Hell  -  fire,  kept  within  proper  bounds," 
&&*.  Fuseli  said  to  Rogers,  "  is  no  bad  thing/' 
Limbo  might  do,  if  the  fellows  attempted 
only  the  tolerable  ;  but  they  keep  blow- 
ing, away  forever  at  what  they  themselves 
and  everybody  must  hate.  A  vile  tune 
runs  round  the  world,  and  is  the  universal 
fashion.  Hated,  too,  all  the  time  it  is 
being  played,  or  sung.  Strange  to  think  of 
— everybody  hates  whistling,  and  every- 
body whistles.  It  is  the  thing  that  police- 
men should  be  specially  instructed  to  knock 
men  down  for  doing.  "  Shoo  Fly "  in 
fashion,  you  climb  to  the  top  of  Popocate- 
petl and  you  will  find  a  man  there  whis- 
tling it.  As,  in  riding  up  town  in  the  even- 
ing, you  see  an  article  of  dress  adorning 
the  persons  of  thousands  which  struck  you 
as  a  novelty  when  you  rode  down  in  the 
morning.  Strange,  how  imitative  men  are 
—  monkeys  are  not  more  so.  And  the  uni* 


A  Club  of  One  45 

versal  selfishness  !  The  horn-blowers  and 
the  piano-players  never  think  of  how  they 
are  vexing  nearly  all  who  hear  them.  Now 
and  then,  only,  an  interested  person  is 
found  to  say  it  is  agreeable.  In  some 
houses  there  is  an  instrument  of  torture  —  instruments 
stringed,  springed,  padded,  or  bored  —  in  °J 
every  room,  which  must  be  endured,  —  as 
the  very  people  would  punish  you  for  com- 
plaining of  it  who  complain  themselves. 
The  sensitive  lady  with  the  sensitive  sick 
child,  whose  nerves  are  torn  to  pieces  by 
the  squeaking  "  organ  "of  a  neighbor, 
would  be  furious  if  her  young  lady  daugh- 
ter's practicing  on  the  piano  by  the  hour 
were  complained  of  in  the  least  degree. 
But  that  aggregation  of  discords  and  hor-  A  brass- 
Tors  —  a  brass  -  band  —  who  can  compass 
it  ?  who  invented  it  ?  A  friend  of  mine 
was  at  the  Boston  Jubilee  the  other  day, 
where  there  were  twelve  thousand  musi- 
cians, and  he  said  he  had  time  and  again 
heard  a  village  brass  -  band  of  a  dozen 
pieces  make  more  noise  than  the  whole 
twelve  thousand.  But,  to  think  of  it,  nearly 
every  one,  at  some  time  in  life,  has  blown 
a  horn,  or  made  a  noise  on  an  instru- 
ment of  some  sort,  to  the  torment,  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent,  of  every  other  man 


Memorable 
horns. 


At  Ronces- 
•vcdles. 


46  A  Club  of  One 

who  heard  him,  and  he  should  submit  to 
endure  like  inflictions  of  others  without 
murmuring.  Horns,  too,  have  played  so 
great  a  part  in  the  history  of  this  world, 
that  perhaps  one  should  not  quite  lose  all 
consideration  for  them.  Their  effect  on 
At jericho.  the  wall  of  Jericho  is  memorably  recorded 
in  Holy  Writ.  Sometimes  I  have  wondered 
that  the  walls  of  buildings  in  which  brass- 
bands  were  playing  did  not  tumble  down 
in  the  same  manner.  At  Roncesvalles, 
Orlando,  in  despair,  blew  so  terrible  a  blast, 
that  he  rent  his  horn  and  the  veins  and 
sinews  of  his  neck ;  and  Charles,  who 
heard  it  eight  miles  off,  was  hindered  by 
the  traitor  Ganellon  from  coming  to  his 
assistance.  The  sound  of  Nimrod's  horn, 
which  Dante  heard,  on  his  way,  with  Vir- 
gil, to  the  lowest  part  of  hell,  was  louder 
still.  "  I  heard,"  says  the  poet,  "  a  high 
horn  sound  so  loudly  that  it  would  have 
made  any  thunder  weak."  The  voice  of 
Fingal,  in  Ossian,  was  hardly  less  loud 
and  terrible  than  the  horns  of  Orlando 
and  Nimrod.  When  he  raised  his  voice, 
"  Cromla  answered  around,  the  sons  of  the 
desert  stood  still,  and  the  fishes  of  the 
troubled  sea  moved  to  the  depths."  At 
the  very  times  when  you  most  dislike  to 


NimroiTs 
horn. 


FingaFs 
voice. 


A  Club  of  One  47 

hear  what  they  call  music,  your  ears  are 
most  open  and  sensitive  to  it,  and  nothing 
will  shut  it  out.  I  have  heard  a  music- 
box —  set  agoing  by  some  sleepless  old 
bachelor  —  through  a  dozen  brick  walls. 
I  have  heard  a  hand-organ  playing  a  mile 
away.  I  have  heard  a  girl  singing  —  A  girPs 

,   .  ,,.  singing. 

screaming,  screeching,  squalling  —  when 
my  ears  were  bound  up  and  smothered 
with  pillows.  Fortunately,  the  barbaric 
taste  generally  disappears  at  manhood,  or 
the  world  would  be  a  pandemonium,  and 
rilled  with  imbeciles  and  incapables.  The 
taste  for  music  once  become  a  chronic  appe- 
tite or  passion,  all  hope  of  practicalness  or 
intelligent  application  in  other  fields  may 
be  abandoned.  Patrick  Henry  played  the  Patrick 
fiddle  —  and  he  played  it  well,  they  say 
—  but  he  was  a  great  orator  —  the  greatest 
perhaps  that  America  has  produced.  God 
Almightly  works  inscrutably,  his  wonders 
to  perform.  He  doth  the  incredible  and 
exceedeth  the  unimaginable,  for  his  own 
wise  purposes.  Exceptions  he  creates  or  Exceptions 
permits  for  encouragement  or  example. 
The  old  English  divine  said  of  strawber- 
ries, "  Doubtless  God  could  have  made  a 
better  berry,  but  doubtless  God  never  did." 
Doubtless  God  could  have  permitted  a 


48  A  Club  of  One 

greater  nuisance  than  attempts  at  music, 
but  doubtless  God  never  has. 

I  have  just  received  a  complimentary  in- 
vitation to  a  wedding.  The  bridegroom 
was  a  man  when  I  was  a  boy.  He  must  be 
a  good  deal  past  seventy  now.  The  bride, 
I  hear,  is  not  much  above  twenty.  These 
incongruous  incongruous  marriages  !  The  disparity  is 

marriages,  .  <-     r          •  •          i  • 

suggestive.  Softening  is  almost  a  certain 
consequence.  Young  women  do  not  know 
what  they  do  when  they  marry  old  men. 
Possibly  their  hope  is  in  the  conclusion 
of  the  song  —  that  the  old  brass  their 
old  husbands  leave  them  will  buy  them 

Wycheriy.  new  pans.  Old  Wycherly  was  wise  in 
the  matter,  and  the  promise  he  exacted 
from  his  young  wife  is  a  travesty  upon  it, 
in  the  comedian's  best  vein.  I  do  not 
like  to  think  of  it ;  I  fear  the  bursting 
of  a  vessel.  The  old  actor,  dramatist,  and 
manager,  married  a  girl  of  eighteen  when 
he  was  verging  on  eighty.  Shortly  after, 
Providence  was  pleased,  in  its  mercy  to 
the  young  woman,  to  call  the  old  man  to 
another  and  a  better  world.  But  ere  he 
took  his  final  departure  from  this,  he  sum- 
moned his  young  wife  to  his  bedside,  and 

Dying.        announced  to  her  that  he  was  dying ;  where- 


A  Club  of  One  49 

upon  she  wept  bitterly.     Wycherly  lifted 
himself  up  in  the  bed,  and  gazing  with  ten- 
der emotions  on  his  young,  weeping  wife, 
said,  "My  dearest  love,  I  have  a  solemn  Exacts* 
promise  to  exact  from  you  before  I  quit  fnmku 

r  111  1T7-11  youngwife. 

you  forever  here  below.  Will  you  assure 
me  my  wishes  will  be  attended  to  by  you, 
however  great  the  sacrifice  you  may  be 
called  on  to  make  ? "  Horrid  ideas  of  Sut- 
tees, of  poor  Indian  widows  being  called 
on  to  expire  on  funeral  pyres,  with  the 
bodies  of  their  deceased  lords  and  masters, 
flashed  across  the  brain  of  the  poor  woman. 
With  a  convulsive  effort  and  desperate  res- 
olution, old  Wycherly 's  young  wife  gasped 
out  an  assurance  that  his  commands,  how-  Assures  her 
ever  dreadful  they  might  be,  should  be 
obeyed.  Then  Wycherly,  with  a  ghastly 
smile,  said  in  a  low  and  solemn  voice,  "  My 
beloved  wife,  the  parting  request  I  have  to 
make  of  you  is  —  that  when  I  am  gone  — 
(here  the  young  woman  sobbed  and  cried 
most  vehemently)  —  when  I  am  in  my  cold 
grave  —  (Mrs.  Wycherly  tore  her  hair)  — 
when  I  am  laid  low  —  (the  disconsolate 
wife  shrieked  with  grief)  —  when  I  am  no 
longer  a  heavy  burden  and  a  tie  on  you  — 
("  Oh  !  for  Heaven's  sake  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wycherly,  "  what  am  I  to  do  ? ")  —  I  com-  «*»*»*. 


50  A  Club  of  One 

mand  you,  my  dear  young  wife  —  (said  the 
old,  dying  comedian)  —  on  pain  of  incurring 
my  malediction,  never  to  —  marry  —  an 
old  man  again  !  "  Mrs.  Wycherly  dried  her 
eyes,  and,  in  the  most  fervent  manner, 
promised  that  she  never  would  ;  and  that 
faithful  woman  kept  her  word  for  life. 
There  is  not  much  to  be  said  of  incongru- 
ous marriages  after  that.  It  tells  the  story. 
Nothing  further  could  be  added  to  it  with- 
out  quoting  the  lines  of  Waller,  On  One 
Married  to  an  Old  Man,  which  I  would 
rather  not  repeat.  The  whole  thing  is  dis- 
tasteful. An  old  man  —  shriveled  and 
shaky  —  with  a  pretty  young  woman  on 
his  shrunken  arm  —  is  a  picture  for  a  satyr 
to  grin  at,  and  a  philosopher  to  deplore. 
perverted  To  be  pleased  with  it  would  require  a  per- 
verted taste  —  suggesting  the  delight  of 
the  surgeon,  inspecting  the  blooming  can- 
cer, ripe  for  his  pitiless  knife.  A  poor 
young  plant  is  the  virgin  green,  that  feeds 
on  ruins  old.  Of  right  poor  food  are  her 
meals  I  ween,  in  his  cell  so  lone  and  cold. 
The  incompatibility  !  Only  the  amalgam 
of  mammon  could  unite  such  opposites.  It 
is  Plutus's  best  work,  —  at  which  he  swells 
himself  to  his  greatest  proportions  —  jing- 
ling his  metallic  voice  ("clucking  voice," 


A  Club  of  One  57 

Dante  calls  it),  and  licking  his  chaps  like  a 
disgusting  great  boar.  Once  I  attended  a 
wedding  of  December  and  May.  The  tailor  December 
had  padded  the  garments  of  the  bride-  andMay' 
groom,  and  the  jeweler  had  hung  his  dia- 
monds on  the  bride.  The  smile  of  senility 
brightened  the  countenance  of  the  one  with 
a  stagy  light,  while  all  the  blood  of  the 
heart  of  the  other  seemed  to  be  concen- 
trated in  her  shame-stricken  face.  What 
wonder  that  Hymen  blushed,  that  satyrs 
grinned,  that  Virtue  felt  herself  outraged 
and  Religion  insulted,  when  Sin,  in  priestly 
robe,  with  priestly  unction,  in  awful  irony, 
pronounced  the  accursed  blessing  ?  The  " 
occasion  was  a  Vanity  Fair  indeed,  at  which 
a  Death's  head  on  a  Venus  figure  was  every- 
where present  ;  —  at  the  banquet  sitting  ; 
peering  over  the  shoulders  of  beauty; 
drinking  its  drink  from  the  goblet  of  Sa- 
tan; —  the  latter  an  invisible  and  unex- 


pected  guest,  but  the  happiest,  by  all  odds,  v> 
of  the  party.  I  went  home  a  sadder  man, 
—  with  the  distressing  certainty,  that  such 
scenes  must  continue  to  be  acted  before 
high  Heaven,  and  increase,  with  the  growth 
of  what  all  men  call  civilization. 


For  two  or  three  days  I  have  suffered 


52  A  Club  of  One 

supremely,  and  the  utmost  I  could  do  was 
to  take  care  of  myself.  So  long  a  sufferer, 
I  have  learned  to  do  that.  I  should  have 
been  dead  long  ago  if  I  had  trusted  other 
people  to  look  after  me.  Some  very  im- 
portant matter  they  would  have  regarded  as 
a  very  little  thing,  and  I  should  be  no  more. 
So,  long  since,  I  perceived  the  importance 
of  attentive,  perpetual  observation  and  care 

A  little  book  of  myself.  I  have  a  little  book  of  duties, 
which  I  have  religiously  kept  for  years,  in 
which  is  set  down  mathematically  every 
little  and  great  thing  pertaining  to  my 
health  —  when  to  do  certain  things,  to  the 
minute,  and  when  to  avoid  them  altogether ; 
by  which  means,  and  by  reason  of  special 
sagacity  and  acumen  in  all  things  in  which 
I  myself  am  interested,  1  have  become  a 

A  genius  in  very  genius  in  self -observation  and  care- 
takingi  (Coddling,  the  brute  of  a  doctor  I 
lately  discharged  called  it,  on  one  of  his  last 
visits.)  But,  with  all  my  care,  I  sometimes 
forget  a  duty,  and  suffer  in  consequence. 
When  I  had  concluded  my  last  bit  of  desk- 
work,  the  time  had  arrived  for  my  ninety- 
two  paces  on  the  veranda.  To  my  horror, 
and,  I  fear,  my  everlasting  injury,  I  took 
ninety-eight  !  And,  not  observing  the  tem- 
perature as  I  should  (fifteen  degrees  above 


A  Club  of  One  53 

freezing),  I  wore  my  light-weight  muffler, 
and  my  heavy  gloves,  without  lining.  The 
effect  of  the  excess  in  exercise,  and  neglect  Effectofex- 

cess, 

in  not  sufficiently  protecting  myself  against 
the  severe  cold,  very  soon  announced  itself 
in  a  cough,  the  most  distressing  I  have 
had  for  years.  The  doctor,  however,  was 
prompt,  with  heroic  remedies,  and  I  am 
better  again,  thank  the  Lord  !  The  man 
seems  to  know  his  business,  and  me,  es- 
pecially. Though  he  did  miscalculate, 
when  he  asked  me  my  age  !  Impertinence  ! 
I  did  n't  have  the  patience  or  self-possession 
of  About's  Greek  servant,  who,  when  asked  About*  ser- 
his  age,  answered,  imperturbably,  "  My  m 
mother  wrote  it  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and 
the  wind  blew  it  away."  Better  for  doctor 
and  patient  if  both  had  had  the  tact  and 
kindness  displayed  under  not  dissimilar  cir- 
cumstances by  two  eminent  English  peo- 
ple. Horace  Walpole,  dining  (it  is  stated)  waipoieana, 
with  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  on  her  theduch*ss- 
birthday  (when  she  had  just  finished  her 
eightieth  year),  soon  after  the  cloth  was 
removed,  very  politely  drank  her  health  in 
a  bumper,  and  added,  "  May  you  live,  my 
Lady  Duchess,  till  you  begin  to  grow 
ugly  !  "  "I  thank  you,  Mr.  Walpole,"  re- 
plied her  Grace ;  "  and  may  you  long  con- 


54  ^  Club  of  One 

Age  and  tinue  your  taste  for  antiquities  ! "  Ah !  age 
and  ugliness  !  "  I  remember,"  says  the 
mother  of  Fanny  Kemble,  "  the  dreadful 
impression  made  upon  me  by  a  story  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence  told  my  mother  of  Lady 

J ,  (George  the  Fourth's  Lady  J ,) 

who,  standing  before  her  drawing-room 
looking-glass,  and  unaware  that  he  was  in 
the  rooms,  exclaimed  :  '  I  swear  it  would 
be  better  to  go  to  hell  at  once  than  to  live 
to  grow  old  and  ugly.'  "  Some  one  asked 

Fonteneiie.  Fontcnelle  how  old  he  was.  He  parried  the 
impertinence  delicately  :  "  Hush  !  Pray 
don't  speak  so  loud  ;  death  seems  to  have 
forgotten  me,  and  you  may  perhaps  put 
him  in  mind  of  me."  When  I  get  de- 
cidedly better,  and  the  conditions  are  favor- 
able, I  mean  to  express  myself  at  length  of 
this  detestable  practice.  Meantime,  discre- 
tion !  To  live  to  do  so  important  a  thing 

Living.  I  must  look  to  living.  Living !  Could 
some  one  teach  the  art !  We  should  all 
flock  to  him  to  learn.  Other  people  we  are 
very  wise  about.  Of  ourselves  we  are  ig- 
norant enough.  We  are  constructed  to  see 

other peo-  outwardly,  says  old  Montaigne.  Other  peo- 
ple's sins  trouble  us.  But  here  I  am,  run- 
ning on.  Philosophy  to  the  moon  !  What 
care  I  for  it  or  anything  in  comparison  with 


A  Club  of  One  55 

myself.  It  is  when  I  forget  myself  that  I 
suffer  most.  The  consequences  of  even  a 
moment's  abstraction  have  sometimes  been 
nearly  fatal  to  me.  Dreaming  one  day 
over  some  choice  sweet  amid  the  treasures 
of  my  library,  I  mistook  the  tiger  on  my 
rug  for  the  veritable  beast  from  Bengal, 
and  started,  in  a  manner  to  upset  all  my  His  nerves 
nerves.  Yet 

"  Blessed  are  the  Books,  I  say, 
For  honey  of  the  soul  are  they." 

And  I  will  enjoy  them,  and  dream  over 
them,  to  the  end.  Any  deprivation  before 
that.  The  doctor,  by  the  by,  promises  me 
an  evening  of  social  converse  in  my  library 
soon.  We  shall  enjoy  it  together,  I  think. 
He  has  the  stuff  of  a  thinker  in  him  :  I 
hope  he  has  good  taste.  If  he  should  be- 
tray a  liking  for  the  modern  society  novel  The  modem 

J      .  „         .  societynovel. 

—  written  to  be  read  without  reflection  — 
as  a  procession  or  masquerade  is  viewed,  in 
which  one  has  the  slightest  interest  —  I 
could  not  help  losing  respect  for  him.  I 
do  not  expect  the  man  to  be  a  Solomon  in 
wisdom,  an  Emerson  in  taste,  or  an  angel 
in  virtue.  I  should  be  unfit  for  him  if  he 
were.  As  to  angels,  they  are  fancies. 
Leigh  Hunt's  conception  is  the  very  best,  HunCsidea 
I  think,  that  literature  has  produced.  An  °J 


5«5  A  Club  of  One 

angel  (he  says)  is  the  chorister  of  heaven, 
the  page  of  martyrdom,  the  messenger  from 
the  home  of  mothers.  He  comes  to  the 
tears  of  the  patient,  and  is  in  the  blush  of 
a  noble  anger.  He  kisses  the  hand  that 
gives  an  alms.  He  talks  to  parents  of  their, 
departed  children,  and  smooths  the  pil- 
low of  sickness,  and  supports  the  cheek  of 
the  prisoner  against  the  wall,  and  is  the 
knowledge  and  comfort  which  a  heart  has 
of  itself  when  nobody  else  knows  it,  and  is 
the  playfellow  of  hope,  and  the  lark  of  as- 
piration, and  the  lily  in  the  dusk  of  adver- 
sity.  After  such  a  passage,  to  be  twisted 

contortions.     .      '  .  .  .          .  ,.- 

into  contortions  by  a  toe-ache  is  to  surfer 
a  pang  of  memory  and  a  discouragement 
to  hope  unknown  outside  the  nethermost 
abyss  of  the  doomed.  A  twinge  of  the 
gout,  I  suspect. 

Hates  dispu-      I  hate  disputation.     My  wife  —  It  is  not 

tation. 

discussion.  It  is  next  thing  to  scolding. 
Gentlemen  ought  to  be  able  to  talk  without 
disputing ;  though  no  gentleman  will  intro- 
duce into  conversation  a  subject  upon  which 
gentlemen  might  differ  with  feeling.  That 
is  the  test.  A  very  good  man,  as  the  world 
goes,  sometimes  comes  in  to  sit  with  me 
an  evening.  The  politenesses  have  hardly 


A  Club  of  One  57 

been  exchanged,  when  he  asks  my  view  of 
something.  The  view  he  at  once  takes  to 
be  a  deliberate  opinion,  and  falls  to  com- 
bating it,  by  giving  me  his  opinion  of  it,  to 
the  contrary.  As  if  I  cared  particularly 
what  he  thought  about  it  !  He  is  too  good 
a  man  to  cultivate  tempestuousness.  It 
has  been  said  wisely  that  no  dispute  is 
managed  without  passion,  and  yet  there  is 
scarce  a  dispute  worth  a  passion.  Anthony 
Trollope  is  said  to  have  been  very  fond  of 
disputation  for  its  own  sake,  and  once  at 
dinner  to  have  roared  out  to  some  one  at 
the  end  of  the  table,  "  I  totally  disagree 
with  you.  What  was  it  you  said  ?  "  Fen- 
imore  Cooper  related  to  Moore  an  anec- 
dote of  a  disputative  man.  "  Why,  it  is  as 
plain  as  that  two  and  two  make  four." 
"  But  I  deny  that  too  ;  for  2  and  2  make 
twenty-two."  On  one  occasion  when  they 
were  together,  Dr.  Campbell  said  some-  Dr.  camf>- 

,   .  t-w       »  "*  i  T  *j      bell  and  Dr. 

thing,  and  Dr.  Johnson  began  to  dispute  it.  Johnson. 
"  Come,"  said  Campbell,  "  we  do  not  want 
to  get  the  better  of  one  another ;  we  want 
to  increase  each  other's  ideas."     When  the 
erudite    Casaubon    visited    the    Sorbonne  Casaut>on. 
they  showed  him  the  hall  in  which,  as  they 
proudly  told   him,   disputations   had   been 
held  for  four  hundred  years.     "  And  what," 


58  A  Club  of  One 

said  he,  "have  they  decided?"  It  is  ex- 
pected by  nearly  every  one  that  everybody 
will  take  a  side  of  everything  presented, 
and  at  the  same  time  show  very  marked 
feelings  of  partisanship  —  to  the  point, 
even,  of  belligerence.  On  first  nights,  in 
in  the  time  the  time  of  Voltaire,  when  play-goers  were 

of  Voltaire.  ..  .  '  .       , 

unusually  excited,  each  spectator  was  asked, 
as  he  entered  the  parquette,  "  Do  you  come 
to  hiss  ?"  "  Yes."  "  Then  sit  over  there." 
But  if  he  answered,  "  I  come  to  applaud," 
he  was  directed  to  the  other  side.  Thus 
the  antagonistic  bodies  were  massed  for 
action.  So,  in  society,  every  man  is  ex- 
pected to  range  himself  on  one  side  or  the 
other  of  every  subject.  Whatever  the  in- 
sufficiency -  of  information  and  light,  he 
must  decide  the  question,  and  all  questions, 
at  once,  that  may  be  presented  to  him. 
Alas  !  to  reflection  nothing  could  be  more 
Man-  ridiculous.  Montesquieu,  in  one  of  the 
persian  Letters,  says  :  "  The  other  day  I 
was  at  a  gathering  where  I  saw  a  very 
amusing  man.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he 
decided  three  questions  in  morals,  four  his- 
torical problems,  and  five  points  in  physics. 
I  have  never  seen  such  a  universal  de- 
cider." Unreasonable  and  intemperate 
partisanship  prevents  intelligent  agree- 


A  Club  of  One  59 

ment.  Lord  Burleigh,  we  are  told,  was 
once  very  much  pressed  by  some  of  the 
divines  of  his  time,  who  waited  on  him  in  a 
body,  to  make  some  alterations  in  the  Lit- 
urgy. He  desired  them  to  go  into  the  next 
room  by  themselves,  and  bring  him  in 
their  unanimous  opinion  upon  some  of  the 
disputed  points.  They  returned,  however, 
to  him  very  soon,  without  being  able  to 
agree.  "  Why,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  how 
can  you  expect  that  I  should  alter  any 
point  in  dispute,  when  you,  who  must  be 
more  competent,  from  your  situation,  to 
judge  than  I  can  possibly  be,  cannot  agree  Doctors dis- 

,  .  .  agree, 

among  yourselves  in  what  manner  you 
would  have  me  alter  it."  Benjamin  Lay,  a 
violent  reformer  and  enthusiast,  was  con- 
temporary with  Dr.  Franklin,  who  some- 
times visited  him.  Among  other  schemes 
of  reform  he  entertained  the  idea  of  con- 
verting  all  mankind  to  Christianity.  This 
was  to  be  done  by  three  persons  —  himself 
and  two  other  enthusiasts,  assisted  by  Dr. 
Franklin.  But  on  their  first  meeting  at 
the  doctor's  house,  the  three  "  chosen  ves- 
sels "  got  into  a  violent  dispute  on  points 
of  doctrine,  and  separated  in  ill-humor. 
The  philosopher,  who  had  been  an  amused 
listener,  advised  the  three  sages  to  give  up 


60  A  Club  of  One 

the  project  of  converting  the  world  until 
they  had  learned  to  tolerate  one  another. 
It  was  Froude,  I  believe,  who  sometimes  in 
impatient  moments  wished  that  the  laity 
s  would  treat  their  disputatious  divines  as 

divines. 

two  gentlemen  once  treated  their  seconds, 
when  they  found  themselves  forced  into  a 
duel  without  knowing  what  they  were  quar- 
reling about.  As  the  principals  were  being 
led  up  to  their  places,  one  of  them  whis- 
pered to  the  other,  "  If  you  will  shoot  your 
second,  I  will  shoot  mine." 

A  man  called  to  ask  me  to  sign  the  Total 
Abstinence  Pledge.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
man  of  sense.  I  begged  him  to  stay  till  I 
prepared  a  little  pledge  for  him  to  sign. 
piedge-mak-  He  went  away.  As  if  pledge-making  and 
™iedge-tak-  pledge-taking  were  not  for  two !  As  if 
any  one  existed  who  could  not  be  embar- 
rassed by  a  pledge  of  some  sort.  As  if 
any  man  on  earth  could  subscribe  to  the 
Ten  Commandments  and  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  without  reservation  or  qualifica- 
tion. As  if  — 


The  north-       The  wind  is  from  the  northeast.     I  felt 

east  wind.        . 

it  approaching  very  sensibly,  long  before  it 
came,  and  prepared  for  it  as   I  could.     I 


A  Club  of  One  61 

put  on  my  pink  shirt  over  a  chamois  jacket. 
I  poured  some  Number  Six  into  my  boots. 
I  breakfasted  appropriately.  I  looked  to 
the  window  stripping,  and  double-sashed  the 
windows.  Forewarned,  forearmed.  When 
it  came  I  was  ready  for  it.  Mad  to  be  Mad  to  be 
barred  out,  it  went  skirring  round  and 
round  for  a  hole  to  get  in  at.  It  dashed 
down  the  flue,  filling  the  room  with  poison- 
ous gases  and  smoke.  It  appeared  where 
least  expected,  and  where  nothing  would 
keep  it  out.  Ah,  the  northeast  wind  !  — 
the  universal  dread.  Once  hear  a  Britisher 
assail  it !  Boreas  is  a  ruffian  and  a  bully, 
but  the  northeast  is  a  rascal.  ^Eolus  has  A  rascal 
not  such  a  vicious,  ill-conditioned  blast  in 
his  puffy  bags.  It  withers  like  an  evil  eye  ; 
it  blights  like  a  parent's  curse  ;  is  less  kind 
than  ingratitude  ;  more  biting  than  forgot- 
ten benefits.  It  comes  with  sickness  on 
its  wings,  and  rejoices  only  the  doctor  and 
the  sexton.  When  Charon  hoists  a  sail,  it 
is  the  northeast  that  swells  it ;  it  purvey? 
for  famine  and  caters  for  pestilence.  From 
the  savage  realms  of  the  Czar  it  comes 
with  desolating  sweep,  laden  with  moans  Laden  with 
from  Siberian  mines,  and  sounding  like 
echoes  of  the  knout ;  but  not  a  fragrant 
breath  brings  it  from  all  the  rosaries  of 


62  A  Club  of  One 

Persia,  so  destitute  is  it  of  grace  and  char- 
ity. While  it  reigns,  no  fire  heats,  no  rai- 
ment comforts,  no  walls  protect  —  cold 
without  bracing,  scorching  without  warmth. 
It  deflowers  the  earth,  and  it  wans  the  sky. 
The  ghastliest  of  hues  overspreads  the  face 
Nature  of  things,  and  collapsing  nature  seems  ex- 

seetns  expir-       .    . 

ins-  pinng  of  cholera.  The  cock  in  the  barn- 

yard is  sullen  and  solitary  ;  the  horse  in 
the  stable  has  a  whipped  look ;  the  donkey 
at  the  stack  erects  his  ears,  and  shows 
metal  in  his  heels ;  the  pigeons  moan,  like 
the  undercurrent  of  the  brook ;  all  men  are 
shy  and  silent;  the  children  are  quarrel- 
some and  perverse ;  the  sparrows,  even,  are 

Engines  dumb  and  comfortless  looking;  engines 
groan  with  their  loads,  and  spit  spitefully 
their  scalding  steam ;  engineers  see  obsta- 
cles at  every  curve,  and  shiver ;  passengers 
snuggle  poutingly  into  corners,  and  wonder 
if  ever  so  many  disagreeable  people  were 
in  the  same  space  before ;  the  boy  munches 
his  apple  with  tenfold  offensiveness  ;  the 
baby  misses  the  way  to  its  mouth  with  its 
candied  fist ;  the  pug  on  the  rug  snaps  and 

Marrow  snarls  like  mad ;  marrow  congeals ;  the  spi- 
nal column  gives  sign  of  insecurity  under 
the  burden  of  a  leaden  brain.  Alas,  alas  ! 
A  northeast  wind  must  have  been  blowing 


A  Club  of  One  63 

to  account  for  an  incident  at  a  military  exe-  incident  /» 

TT      i      T-I      i    i  -i    Hyde  Park 

cution  m  Hyde  Park  long  ago  —  mentioned 
by  Gilly  Williams.  A  grave  man,  witness- 
ing it,  turned  about,  and  said  to  a  by- 
stander, "  By  G — ,  I  thought  there  was 
more  in  it !  "  And  shot  himself  very  soon 
afterwards.  A  northeast  wind  must  have 
been  blowing  to  account  for  an  event  in  Event  in 
Paris  streets  the  day  Robespierre  was  guil- 
lotined  —  noted  by  Carlyle.  From  the  Pa- 
lais de  Justice  to  the  Place  de  la  Revolu- 
tion, it  is  one  dense  stirring  mass ;  all 
windows  crammed ;  the  very  roofs  and 
ridge-tiles  budding  forth  curiosity,  in  strange 
gladness.  All  eyes  are  on  Robespierre's 
tumbril,  where  he,  his  jaw  bound  in  dirty  fflJfc 
linen,  with  his  half-dead  brother,  and  half- 
dead  Henriot,  lie  shattered  ;  their  seven- 
teen hours  of  agony  about  to  end.  The 
gendarmes  point  their  swords  at  him,  to 
show  the  people  which  he  is.  A  woman 
springs  on  the  tumbril ;  clutching  the  side 
of  it  with  one  hand  ;  waving  the  other  sib- 
yl-like ;  and  exclaims  :  "  The  death  of  thee 
gladdens  my  very  heart."  Robespierre 
[thought  by  many  to  be  dead]  opened  his  opens  his 
eyes  :  "  Scoundrel !  Down  to  hell  with  the  ° 
curses  of  all  wives  and  mothers  !  "  I  can 
imagine  an  east  wind  blowing  when  they 


64  A  Club  of  One 

took  Jesus  out  —  bearing  the  cross  for  him- 
self —  to  the  place  of  a  skull,  and  crucified 
him,  between  two  thieves.  I  like  to  think 
of  something  to  palliate  the  crime  of  Pilate 
and  the  mob.  My  Uncle  Toby  had  a  word 
to  say  for  Satan,  and  Burns  too,  I  think,  in 
one  of  his  poems. 

Age  and  Age  and  Want,  oh!  ill-matched  pair!  A 
beggar  was  just  now  at  the  door  —  an  old 
man.  Seventy-five  years  of  age,  I  should 
say,  at  least.  The  air  was  cold,  and  I  did 
not  encourage  him  to  linger  ;  though  he 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  relate  a  pitiful  tale. 
He  had  evidently  seen  better  days,  and  ap- 
peared to  have  a  good  deal  of  the  pride  of 
manhood  left.  There  was  nothing  of  obse- 
quiousness in  his  manner,  and  the  thankful- 
ness he  expressed  was  in  the  language  of 

Irish  beg-  self-respect  and  intelligence.  The  Irish 
beggars,  as  Thackeray  describes  them,  come 
crawling  round  you  with  lying  prayers  and 
loathsome  compliments,  that  make  the 
stomach  turn ;  they  do  not  even  disguise 
that  they  are  lies  ;  for,  refuse  them,  and  the 
wretches  turn  off  with  a  laugh  and  a  joke, 
a  miserable  grinning  cynicism  that  creates 
distrust  and  indifference,  and  must  be,  one 
would  think,  the  very  best  way  to  close  the 


A  Club  of  One  65 

purse,  not  to  open  it,  for  objects  so  un- 
worthy. An  old  man,  obliged  to  beg,  is  a 
pitiable  character.  I  do  not  like  to  think  of 
the  extremity.  Preserve,  just  Providence  ! 
(exclaims  Jean  Paul)  the  old  man  from /«»*  *"««*'* 

exclama- 

want !  for  hoary  years  have  already  bent  <»*. 
him  low,  and  he  can  no  longer  stand  upright 
with  the  youth,  and  bear  heavy  burdens  on 
his  shoulders.  I  know  of  nothing  more  ter- 
rible to  contemplate  than  the  inconceiv- 
able poverty  and  distress  of  the  people  of  The  people  of 
Thibet,  as  described  by  a  traveler  in  that 
country.  There  are  no  plains  save  flats  in 
the  bottoms  of  the  valleys,  and  the  paths 
lead  over  lofty  mountains.  Sometimes, 
when  the  inhabitants  are  obliged  from  fam- 
ine to  change  their  habitations  in  winter, 
the  old  and  feeble  are  frozen  to  death 
standing  and  resting  their  chins  on  their 
staves,  remaining  as  pillars  of  ice,  to  fall  Menasfii- 
only  when  the  thaw  of  the  ensuing  spring 
commences  !  "  Did  you  ever  observe," 
asks  Macdonald,  in  one  of  his  novels,  "  that 
there  is  not  one  word  about  the  vices  of 
the  poor  in  the  Bible — from  beginning  to 
end?"  "We  talk,"  said  Douglas  Jerrold, 
"  of  the  intemperance  of  the  poor ;  why, 
when  we  philosophically  consider  the  crush- 
ing miseries  that  beset  them  —  the  keen 


66  A  Club  of  One 

The  mock-    suffering  of  penury,  and  the  mockery  of 

ery  of  lux-      .  ,  c       •  •    i          i    • 

ury.  luxury  and  prolusion  with  which  it  is  sur- 

rounded—  the  wonder  is,  not  that  there 
are  so  many  who  purchase  temporary  ob- 
livion of  their  misery,  but  that  there  are  so 
few."  The  blessedness  of  life,  remarks 
the  Scotch  author  quoted,  depends  far  more 
on  its  interest  than  upon  its  comfort.  The 
need  of  exertion  and  the  doubt  of  success 

Life  more     render  life  much  more  interesting  to  the 

™o  the  poor,  poor  than  it  is  to  those  who,  unblessed 
with  anxiety  for  the  bread  that  perisheth, 
waste  their  poor  hearts  about  rank  and 
reputation.  If  men  could  discriminate  be- 
tween needs  and  wants,  what  fortunate 
changes  would  occur  in  their  condition. 
Goldsmith  wrote,  "  Man  wants  but  little 
here  below."  Man  needs  but  little  here 
below,  would  have  been  nearer  the  truth. 
His  necessities  are  few  indeed  ;  his  wants 
include  everything.  They  are  as  hungry 
as  his  desires.  Sense  can  support-  herself 

Cariyie.  (says  Carlyle)  handsomely,  in  most  coun- 
tries, for  some  eighteen  pence  a  day ;  but 
for  fantasy,  planets  and  solar  systems  will 
not  suffice.  It  is  right  that  poverty  in  old 
age  should  be  impressively  held  up  to 
young  people,  and  economy  intelligently 
inculcated  as  the  means  to  forefend  it. 


A  Club  of  One  67 

"  Ye  immortal  gods  !  "  exclaimed  Cicero  ; 
"  men  know  not  how  great  a  revenue  econ- 
omy is."     "Economy,"  said  Voltaire,   "is 
the  source  of  liberality."     Thackeray,  com- 
mending Macaulay's  frugality,  admonishes, 
"  To  save  be  your   endeavor,  against   the  frugallty' 
night's  coming,  when  no  man  may  work ; 
when  the  arm   is  weary  with   long   day's 
labor  ;  when  the  brain  perhaps  grows  dark ; 
when  the  old,  who  can  labor  no  more,  want 
warmth  and  rest,  and  the  young  ones  call 
for  supper."     An  aged  husbandman,  as  the 
German  allegory  runs,  was  working  in  his  A  German 
rich  and  wide-spread  fields,  at  the  decline     egor* 
of  day,  when  he  was  suddenly  confronted 
by  a  spectral  illusion,  in  the  form  of  a  man. 
"  Who,  and  what  are  you  ? "  said  the  aston- 
ished husbandman.     "I  am   Solomon,  the  soiomon,the 
wise,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I  have  come  to  w 
inquire  what  you  are  laboring  for  ?  "     "If 
you  are  Solomon,"  said  the  husbandman, 
"you  ought  to  know  that  I  am  following 
out  the  advice  you  have  given.     You  re- 
ferred me  to  the  ant  for  instruction,  and 
hence  my  toil."     "You  have,"  said  the  ap- 
parition, "  learnt  but  half  your  lesson ;  I 
directed  you  to  labor  in  the  proper  season  The  fa 
for  labor,  in  order  that  you  might  repose 
in  the  proper  season  for  repose." 


•r 
season  for 


68 


A  Club  of  One 


Very 
wretched. 


Modern 
humorists* 


The  saga- 
tiortsfellow. 


I  have  been  very  wretched  for  the  last 
few  days.  Every  ill,  it  seems  to  me,  that 
could  afflict  a  man,  has  attacked  me.  Pains, 
pains,  the  most  searching  and  excruciating, 
in  every  part  of  my  miserable  body.  I 
thought  again  and  again  that  my  poor 
brain  would  split  into  pieces.  The  doctor 
seemed  attentive  and  anxious,  and  his  pow- 
ders and  drops  have  brought  me  to  a  toler- 
able state  again.  And  he  himself  continues 
to  be  endurable,  though  he  did  last  night 
quote  from  one  of  the  modern  humorists  — 
there  are  dozens  of  them  —  who  rely  upon 
extravagance,  bad  grammar,  bad  orthogra- 
phy, and  slang,  to  relieve  the  essential  stu- 
pidity of  their  pages.  Seeing  my  blank 
expression,  he  said,  "You  haven't  read 
him,  perhaps."  I  didn't  reply.  The  sa- 
gacious fellow,  not  to  know  my  detestation 
of  such  stuff  !  Still,  he  seems  a  good  doc- 
tor, and  reads  to  me  sometimes,  as  a  solace. 
He  is  a  natural  reader.  His  reading  is  like 
good  talking.  After  his  allusion  to  the 
coarse  humorist,  he  read  to  me,  in  a  charm- 
ing way,  one  of  Zschokke's  tales,  and  I  for- 
gave him.  Again  he  declared  his  intention 
to  spend  a  long  evening  with  me  in  my  li- 
brary, socially.  I  want  to  enlighten  him  a 
little  as  to  one  thing.  His  limited  means, 


A  Club  of  One  69 

he  thinks,  will  not  permit  him  to  purchase 
books,  so,  I  suspect,  he  has  fallen  into  the 
easily  acquired  habit  of  relying  too  much 

.     ,  r    ,,    .       quired  habit. 

upon  newspapers  and  such  books  as  fall  in 
his  way  for  intellectual  food.  He  pleads  a 
want  of  time  too,  and  sets  down  to  that 
his  ignorance  of  good  literature  and  defec- 
tive literary  taste.  I  hope,  when  I  have 
the  opportunity,  to  give  him  an  object-les- 
son that  will  cure  him  effectually  of  his 
complaints.  Ah  !  that  searching  pain  in 
my  left  elbow  !  I  can  hardly  hold  the  pen 
for  the  agony  I  suffer ;  but  I  must  write  a 
little  now  and  then  for  occupation  and  va- 
riety. I  cannot  be  always  reading,  and  re- 
cording my  pains.  (Another  book,  for  the 
doctor's  special  edification.)  I  feel  myself 
about  worn  out.  Everything  distresses  me. 
I  am  tired  of  the  town,  —  man  made  it ;  I  Town  and 
pine  for  the  country,  —  that  God  made. 
(Pope  for  authority.)  Oh,  the  noises,  the 
noises  of  the  eternal  Babel !  The  rattling 
milk-carts  ;  the  lumbering  ice-wagons  ;  the 
cries  of  the  street-venders ;  the  jingle  of 
the  bells  of  the  horse-cars,  day  and  night, 
that  always  seem  to  stop  just  before  my 
door ;  the  squeaking  hand-organs  ;  the  in- 
fernal brass-bands ;  the  roar  and  roar  of 
multitudinous  wheels,  wheels  ,•  the  whirr  of 


70  A  Club  of  One 

the  locomotive,  like  a  hurricane,  —  thank 
Heaven,  several  blocks  away  ;  the  dashing 
state  carriages  till  far  into  the  early  morn- 
ing, when  wise  people  should  be  asleep,  — 
at  least  be  left  undisturbed  ;  all  together, 
enough  to  hammer  the  brain  into  a  jelly, 
and  destroy  every  vestige  of  humanity  in 
the  soul.  How  any  one  should  be  in  love 
with  the  town  is  past  my  comprehension. 
Johnson  and  Johnson  thought  that  when  a  man  tired  of 
London  he  was  tired  of  his  life.  Macau- 


lay  was  alike  infatuated  with  London. 
Jekyll  used  to  say  that,  if  compelled  to  live 
in  the  country,  he  would  have  the  road  be- 
fore his  door  paved  like  a  street,  and  hire 
a  hackney-coach  to  drive  up  and  down  all 
day.  Lamb  had  a  like  aversion  to  the 

aversion  to  i  i  i  • 

the  country,  country,  and  pronounced  a  garden  the  prim- 
itive prison,  till  man,  with  Promethean 
felicity  and  boldness,  luckily  sinned  him- 
self out  of  it.  For  my  part,  I  hate  the  town 
cordially,  and  —  at  times  —  everything  in  it. 
The  stock-subjects  are  detestable  to  me, 
—  the  last  fashion,  the  last  actor,  the  last 
dance,  the  last  swindler,  —  in  all  of  which 
you  are  expected  to  be  profoundly  inter- 
ested. The  cits  will  babble  away  to  you 
about  evanescent  nothings  without  limit 
I  do  not  permit  them.  And  their  devotion 


A  Club  of  One  77 

and  worship  of  Mammon  !     And  how  they  worship  of 

r  .    ,  Mammon. 

submit  to  the  few  without  a  wish  to  escape 
the  despotism  !  The  common  individual 
submits  to  be  an  atom,  without  responsibil- 
ity or  feeling.  He  is  so  small  a  part  that  he 
feels  no  shame  for  the  sins  of  the  whole. 
"  Multitudes  never  blush."  With  Sterne, 
in  Tristram  Shandy,  I  have  the  greatest 
veneration  in  the  world  for  that  gentleman, 
who,  in  distrust  of  his  own  discretion,  sat 
down  and  composed,  at  his  leisure,  fit 
forms  of  swearing  suitable  for  all  cases,  Forms  of 
from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  provoca- 
tions,  which  could  possibly  happen  to  him  ; 
which  forms  being  well  considered  by  him, 
and  such  moreover  as  he  could  stand  to, 
he  kept  them  ever  by  him  on  the  chim- 
ney-piece, within  his  reach,  ready  for  use. 
Think  of  it !  an  imprecation  ever  ready  for 
every  annoyance  of  my  detestable  city  life ! 
Capital  idea  !  But  as  big  a  book  it  would 
be  as  the  Hermit  of  Bellyfulle's  encyclo-  ™ 
pedia  of  cookery,  —  who  died,  I  believe, 
after  completing  only  a  part  of  it,  —  a  few 
volumes  only.  Cities !  How  to  account 
for  them !  Charon,  I  think  it  was  (in  Lu- 
cian),  who,  surveying  the  earth  one  day 
(from  above)  with  Mercury  —  his  one  only 
day  of  furlough  under  the  bright  sun  — 


72  A  Club  of  One 

Hiding.       called   them   "hiding-places."     A  shrewd 

places. 

man  sees  a  kettle  boil,  and  others  adapt  the 
thing  called  steam  to  locomotive  purposes  ; 
and  forthwith,  one  says,  every  fool  goes 
everywhere  for  what  he  calls  his  holidays, 
but  which,  indeed,  are  his  most  laborious 
days.  Ultimately  he  sticks  himself  down  in 
a  place  where  he  finds  the  greatest  number 
of  people  like  himself.  Hence  these  huge 
contrast  of  cities  !  Ah,  the  contrast  of  fields  and  for- 
ests !  Trees !  Think  of  them !  In  the 
United  States  thirty-six  varieties  of  oak, 
thirty-four  of  pine,  nine  of  fir,  five  of  spruce, 
four  of  hemlock,  two  of  persimmon,  twelve 
of  ash,  eighteen  of  willow,  nine  of  poplar, 
and  I  don't  know  how  many  of  the  beauti- 
ful  beech.  I  once  counted  over  thirty  dif- 

leaves.  p  ,  J 

ferent  varieties  of  trees  in  the  space  of  one 
acre.  And  the  leaves!  —  their  number, 
their  individuality,  their  variety  of  shape 
and  tint,  the  acres  of  space  that  those  of 
one  great  tree  would  cover  if  spread  out 
and  laid  together.  In  the  autumn  to  watch 
them  fall  —  how  slowly !  how  rapidly  !  — 
yet  they  say  nobody  ever  saw  one  of  them 
let  go  !  Homer's  comparison  to  the  lives 
of  men  —  how  fine !  Better  than  Lucian's 
An  October  to  the  bubbles.  I  remember  very  well  one 
"'  October  day  in  Ohio.  It  was  long  ago  — 


A  Club  of  One  73 

"  In  life's  morning  march,  when  my  bosom 
was  young."  (I  like  to  quote  from  that 
poem  of  Campbell's,  —  it  is  incomparable 
of  its  kind.)  A  delightful  tramp  !  Elder- 
berries. (The  great  Boerhaave  held  the 
elder  in  such  pleasant  reverence  for  the 
multitude  of  its  virtues,  that  he  is  said  to 
have  taken  off  his  hat  whenever  he  passed 
it.)  Grapes.  Haws.  Papaws.  (Nature's 
custard.)  Spicewood.  Sassafras.  Hickory  " 
nuts.  Nearly  a  primeval  forest.  Vines 
reminding  one  of  Brazilian  creepers.  Trees 
that  were  respectable  saplings  when  Colum- 
bus landed.  The  dead  roots  of  an  iron- 
wood —  so  like  a  monster  as  to  startle. 
Behemoth  I  thought  of.  ("  He  moveth  his  Behemoth. 
tail  like  a  cedar.")  Thistle-down.  Diffused 
like  small  vices.  Every  seed  hath  wings. 
Here  and  there  a  jay,  or  a  woodpecker. 
Grape  vines,  fantastically  running  over  the 
tops  of  tall  bushes,  —  grouping  deformi- 
ties, any  one  of  which,  if  an  artist  drew 
it,  would  be  called  an  exaggeration,  worse 
than  anything  of  Dore's.  Trees,  swaying 
and  bowing  to  one  another,  like  stilted  suited 
clowns  in  Nature's  afterpiece  of  the  Sea-  cl 
sons.  Trees  incorporated,  —  sycamore  and 
elm,  maple  and  hickory,  —  modifying  and 
partaking  each  other's  nature  ;  resembling 


74  4  Club  of  One 

so  much  as  to  appear  one  tree.  A  jolly 
gray  squirrel,  —  hopping  from  limb  to 
limb,  like  a  robin  ;  swinging  like  an  ori- 
ole ;  flying  along  the  limb  like  a  weaver's 
A  scudding  shuttle  ;  scared  away,  at  length,  by  a  scud- 
ding  cloud  of  pigeons,  just  brushing  the 
tallest  tree-tops,  as  if  kissing  an  annual 
farewell.  Clover.  Sorrel.  Pennyroyal.  A 
drink  of  cider  from  a  bit  of  broken  crock- 
ery. ("Does  he  not  drink  more  sweetly 
that  takes  his  beverage  in  an  earthen  ves- 
sel than  he  that  looks  and  searches  into 
his  golden  chalices  for  fear  of  poison,  and 
sleeps  in  armor,  and  trusts  nobody,  and 
does  not  trust  God  for  his  safety  ? ") 
"  All  is  fair  —  all  glad,  —  from  grass  to 
sun  !  "  Not  a  "  melancholy  "  day.  Keats's 

cholyday.  .  J    .      .  , 

poem  on  Autumn  comes  to  mind ;  and 
Crabbe's.  "  Welcome  pure  thoughts,  wel- 
come, ye  silent  groves  ;  these  guests,  these 
courts,  my  soul  most  dearly  loves."  In- 
dian summer.  Balzac's  comparison  to 
ripe  womanhood.  The  significant  worn 
walk  round  the  mean  man's  field ;  its 
crooked  outline  impressively  striking.  All 
in  all,  a  white  day.  Memory  of  it  supplies 
these  notes.  They  might  be  expanded 
into  an  essay.  The  country,  the  country  ! 
Though  the  man  who  would  truly  relish 


A  Club  of  One  75 

and  enjoy  it  (thought  Dodsley  in  a  letter  to  TO  relish 

_  N  .  •  i       r  •    i        i         •    i     and  enjoy 

bpence)  must  be  previously  furnished  with  the  country. 
a  large  and  various  stock  of  ideas,  which 
he  must  be  capable  of  turning  over  in  his 
own  mind,  of  comparing,  varying,  and  con- 
templating upon  with  pleasure  ;  he  must 
so  thoroughly  have  seen  the  world  as  to 
cure  him  of  being  over  fond  of  it  ;  and  he 
must  have  so  much  good  sense  and  virtue 
in  his  own  heart  as  to  prevent  him  from 
being  disgusted  with  his  own  reflections, 
or  uneasy  in  his  own  company.  Alas  !  — 

The  wits,  most  of  them,  have  had  their 
joke  about  the  children.     Sydney  Smith,  Sydney 

.    .  „  ,J  Smith's  joke 


.    .  „  , 

writing  to  Countess  Grey  of  a  new  grand-  a 
child,  says,  "  I  am  glad  it  is  a  girl  ;  all  lit-  °' 


tie  boys  ought  to  be  put  to  death."  Lamb, 
after  being  plagued  all  the  morning  by 
noisy  children,  proposed  a  toast  to  "the 
memory  of  the  m  -  m  -  much  -  abused  and 
m-m-much  calumniated  good  King  Herod." 
A  foolish  woman  once  asked  Barnes  (editor  Bames\ 
of  the  London  Times)  whether  he  were 
fond  of  children,  and  received  the  answer, 
"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  boiled."  Coleridge,  in  his 
fondness  for  them,  called  them  "  King-  Kingdom 
dom-of-Heavenites."  Appropriate,  I  think, 
after  spending  a  few  minutes  with  a  pretty 


76  A  Club  of  One 

little  girl  who  brought  me  some  fruit  this 
morning.  She  was  a  lovely  creature.  In 
a  plain  dress  of  dark  cloth  ;  roses  in  her 
cheeks  ;  sunshine  in  her  hair  ;  innocence  in 
her  eyes  ;  in  her  face  the  light  of  heaven. 
Father  Ryan,  a  Catholic  priest,  once  told 

and  the  little  , 

child.  me  how,  while  he  was  preaching,  on  a  great 
occasion,  a  child  he  was  fond  of  came  sud- 
denly inside  the  railing,  and  pulling  at  his 
robe,  and  looking  up  sweetly  into  his  face, 
said,  "  Father  Ryan,  are  you  going  to  kith 
me  ?  "  At  which,  of  course,  many  in  the 
great  audience  laughed.  But  when  he 
took  the  darling  up  in  his  arms,  and  said, 
"  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven,"  and 
descanted  upon  the  innocency  and  purity 
of  childhood,  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in 
the  church,  and  sobs  not  a  few  were  dis- 
tinctly heard  in  every  part  of  the  as- 
sembly. There  is  no  doubt  that  children 

yean  Paul,  of  a  certain  depth,  as  Jean  Paul  says,  like 
buildings  of  a  certain  size,  give  echoes. 
Responses,  we  should  call  them,  heard 
out  of  Paradise ,  repeated  in  the  children. 

Thackeray.  "  I  love,"  says  Thackeray,  "  to  see  the  kind 
eyes  of  women  fondly  watching  children 
as  they  gambol  about;  a  female  face,  be 
it  ever  so  plain,  when  occupied  in  regarding 
children,  becomes  celestial  almost,  and  a 


A  Club  of  One  77 

man  can  hardly  fail  to  be  good  and  happy 
while  he  is  looking  on  such  sights.  '  Ah, 
sir  !  '  says  an  enormous  man,  whom  you 
would  not  accuse  of  sentiment,  'I  have  a  Acoupieof 

,  ,    ,         those  things 

couple  of  those  things  at  home;  and  he  at  home. 
stops  and  heaves  a  great  big  sigh  and  swal- 
lows down  a  half  tumbler  of  cold  something 
and  water.  We  know  what  the  honest  fel- 
low means  well  enough.  He  is  saying  to 
himself,  'God  bless  my  girls  and  their 
mother  !  '  "  "  It  is  very  easy,"  says  Holmes, 
in  his  remarkable  Elsie  Venner,  "  to  criti- 
cise other  people's  modes  of  dealing  with  other  peo- 

ple^s  chil- 

their  children.     Outside  observers  see  re- 


suits  ;  parents  see  processes.  They  notice 
the  trivial  movements  and  accents  which 
betray  the  blood  of  this  or  that  ancestor  ; 
they  can  detect  the  irrepressible  move- 
ment of  hereditary  impulse  in  looks  and 
acts  which  mean  nothing  to  the  common 
observer.  To  be  a  parent  is  almost  to  be  robe  a  par, 
a  fatalist.  This  boy  sits  with  legs  crossed, 
just  as  his  uncle  used  to  whom  he  never 
saw  ;  his  grandfathers  both  died  before 
he  was  born,  but  he  has  the  movement  of 
the  eyebrows  which  we  remember  in  one 
of  them,  and  the  gusty  temper  of  the 
other."  No  wonder,  said  one  who  was 
acquainted  with  Lady  Byron  as  Miss  Mil- 


78  A  Club  of  One 

Lord  and     banke,  that  the  marriage  of  Lord  Byron 

Lady  Byron.  -  .  . 

was  never  one  of  reasonable  promise. 
The  bridegroom  and  the  bride  were  ill- 
assorted.  They  were  two  only  children, 
and  two  spoilt  children.  The  best  way  of 
piatoon  training  the  young,  that  loftiest  teacher  of 

training  the     ,  ™  •  i  ir 

young.  the  ancients,  Plato,  said,  is  to  tram  yourself 
at  the  same  time ;  not  to  admonish  them, 
but  to  be  always  carrying  out  your  own 
principles  in  practice.  It  was  the  conclu- 
sion of  Professor  Venable,  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  of  his  profession,  that  many 

A  mistake    teachers  of  morality  destroy  the  good  effect 

of  teachers 

of  morality,  of  judicious  counsel  by  too  much  talk,  as  a 
chemical  precipitate  is  redissolved  in  an 
excess  of  the  precipitating  agent.  "  Train 
up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go :  and 
when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it." 
"Generally  speaking,"  thought  Southey, 
"  it  will  be  found  so  ;  but  is  there  any  other 
rule  to  which  there  are  so  many  excep- 
tions ?  Ask  the  serious  Christian,  as  he 
calls  himself,  or  the  professor  (another  and 
more  fitting  appellative  which  the  Chris- 
tian Pharisees  have  chosen  for  themselves), 
ask  him  whether  he  has  found  it  hold  good. 
Whether  his  sons,  when  they  attained  to 
years  of  discretion  (which  are  the  most  in- 
discreet years  in  the  course  of  human  life), 


A  Club  of  One  79 

have  profited  as  he  expected  by  the  long 
extemporaneous  prayers  to  which  they  lis- 
tened night  and  morning,  the  sad  Sabbaths 
which  they  were  compelled  to  observe,  and 
the  soporific  sermons  which  closed  the  do- 
mestic religiosities  of  those  melancholy 
days.  Ask  them  if  this  discipline  has  pre- 
vented them  from  running  headlong  into 
the  follies  and  vices  of  the  age,  —  from  be- 
ing bird-limed  by  dissipation, — or  caught 
in  the  spider's  web  of  sophistry  and  unbe- 
lief. '  It  is  no  doubt  a  true  observation/ 
says  Bishop  Patrick,  'that  the  ready  way  HOW  to  make 

.  .  .      minds  grow 

to  make  the  minds  of  youth  grow  awry  is  awry. 

to  lace  them  too  hard,  by  denying  them 

their  just  freedom.'     Ask  the  old  faithful 

servant  of  Mammon,  whom  Mammon  has 

rewarded  to  his  heart's  desire,  and  in  whom 

the  acquisition  of  riches  has  only  increased 

his  eagerness  for   acquiring  more,  —  ask 

him  whether  he  has  succeeded  in  training 

up  his  heir  to  the  same  service.     He  will 

tell  you  that  the  young  man  is  to  be  found  Experience 

,  ,    .  ,  of  the  ser- 

upon  race  grounds,  and  in  gaming-houses,  vantof 

...  ....  .  /.  Mammon. 

that  he  is  taking  his  swing  or  extravagance 
and  excess,  and  is  on  the  high  road  to 
ruin.  Ask  the  wealthy  Quaker  [Southey 
hated  the  Quakers],  the  pillar  of  the  meet- 
ing —  most  orthodox  in  heterodoxy,  —  who 


8o 


A  Club  of  One 


the  tailor. 


Doubtful 
results  of 
school  edu- 
cation. 


never  wore  a  garment  of  forbidden  cut  or 
color,  never  bent  his  body  in  salutation,  or 
his  knees  in  prayer,  —  never  uttered  the 
heathen  name  of  a  day  or  month,  nor  ever 
addressed  himself  to  any  person  without 
religiously  speaking  illegitimate  English, 

—  ask  him  how  it  has   happened  that  the 
tailor  has  converted  his  sons.     He  will  fold 
his  hands,  and   twirl    his  thumbs  mourn- 
fully in  silence.     It  has  not  been  for  want 
of  training  them  in  the  way  wherein  it  was 
his  wish  that  they  should  go.     You  are 
about,  sir,  to  send  your  son  to  a  famous 
school.     He  may  come  from  it  an  accom- 
plished scholar  to  the  utmost  extent  that 
school  education  can  make  him  so  ;  he  may 
be  the  better  both  for  its  discipline  and  its 
want  of  discipline  ;  it  may  serve  him  excel- 
lently well  as  a  preparatory  school  for  the 
world   into   which   he   is   about   to  enter. 
But  also  he  may  come  away  an  empty  cox- 
comb or  a  hardened  brute  —  a  spendthrift 

—  a   profligate  —  a  blackguard   or   a  sot. 
To  put  a  boy  in  the  way  he  should  go  is 
like  sending  out  a  ship  well  found,  well 
manned  and  stored,  and  with  a  careful  cap- 
tain ;  but  there  are  rocks  and  shallows  in 
her  course,  winds  and  currents  to  be  en- 
countered, and  all  the  contingencies  and 


A  Club  of  One  81 

perils  of  the   sea."     As  to  the  training 
and  conduct  of  the  children  of  my  own 
body,  I  choose  to  speak  in  the  language  of 
John  Buncle,  who  was  seven  times  a  hus-  John 
band,  and,  one  would  infer,  the  father  of  a 


very  numerous  progeny.  "  As  I  mention," 
he  says,  "  nothing  of  any  children  by  so 
many  wives,  some  readers  may  perhaps 
wonder  at  this  ;  and  therefore,  to  give  a 
general  answer,  once  for  all,  I  think  it  suf- 
ficient to  observe,  that  I  had  a  great  many, 
to  carry  on  the  succession  ;  but  as  they 
never  were  concerned  in  any  extraordi- 
nary affairs,  nor  ever  did  any  remarkable 
things,  that  I  heard  of,  only  rise  and  break- 
fast, read  and  saunter,  drink  and  eat,  it 
would  not  be  fair,  in  my  opinion,  to 
trouble  any  one  with  their  history." 

Is  life  worth  living  ?  Pecuniarily,  hard-  is  life  worth 
ly,  one  would  think,  to  very  many,  after 
reading  Dr.  Farr's  interesting  chapter  on 
the  pecuniary  value  of  life.  A  certain 
amount  of  expense,  he  says,  has  to  be  in- 
curred in  any  class  before  a  child  can  attain 
such  an  age  and  such  strength  that  it  can 
earn  its  own  livelihood.  It  is  very  difficult 
to  estimate  what  the  expenses  of  even  a 
careful  man  who  passes  through  the  ordi- 


82  A  Club  of  One 

nary  university  career  must  have  been  be- 
fore he  is  able  to  earn  anything  for  himself. 
Among  the  lower  ranks  the  problem  is 
simpler,  though  the  facts  and  the  general 
course  of  events  have,  making  due  allow- 
ance for  difference  in  station,  a  considera- 
ble  similarity.  The  value,  says  the  doctor, 
life. va<  of  any  class  of  lives  is  determined  by  valu- 
ing first  at  birth,  or  at  any  age,  the  cost 
of  future  maintenance ;  and  then  the  value 
of  the  future  earnings.  Thus  proceeding, 
I  found  the  value  of  a  Norfolk  agricultural 
laborer  to  be  ^246  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
five  ;  the  child  is  by  this  method  worth 
only  £$  at  birth ;  ,£56  at  the  age  of  five ; 
.£117  at  the  age  of  ten  ;  the  youth  .£192 
at  the  age  of  fifteen  ;  the  young  man  ^234 
at  the  age  of  twenty  ;  the  man  .£246  at 
the  age  of  twenty-five  ;  ^241  at  the  age  of 
thirty,  when  the  value  goes  on  declining  to 
,£136  at  the  age  of  fifty-five  ;  and  only  one 
At  seventy  pound  at  the  age  of  seventy;  the  cost  of 
becomes  maintenance  afterwards  exceeding  the  earn- 
ings, the  value  becomes  negative ;  at  eighty 
the  value  of  the  cost  of  maintenance  ex- 
ceeds the  value  of  the  earnings  by 


The^  stupid        The  stupid  doctors,  little  as  they  know, 
it  must  be  admitted,  have  made  some  ad 


A  Club  of  One  83 

vance  since  Hippocrates.     One  of  the  court 
physicians,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  in- 
vented an  instrument  to  cleanse  the  stom- 
ach and  wrote  a  pamphlet  on  it ;  and  ridic- 
ulous as  a  stomach  scrubbing-brush  may  A  stomach 
appear,  it  afterward  got  a  place  among  sur-  KS£*ff' 
gical   instruments,  and   received  a  Latin 
name,  meaning  cleanser  of  the  stomach  ;  * 

but  the  moderns  not  having  stomach  for  it 
have  transferred  it  to  the  wine-merchant, 
who  more  appropriately  applies  it  to  the 
scouring  of  the  interior  of  bottles.  Heister 
gives  a  minute  description  of  it.  Many  of 
the  remedies  recommended  and  recorded 
by  the  great  and  good  Sir  Thomas  Browne 
are  not  a  bit  less  ridiculous  or  absurd  than 
those  mentioned  in  the  compilation  follow- 
ing. There  was  a  special  water  procured 
by  distillation  from  a  peck  of  garden  shell 
snails  and  a  quart  of  earth  worms,  besides 
other  things  ;  this  was  prescribed,  not  for  For  con- 
consumption  alone,  but  for  dropsy  and  all  ** 
obstructions.  For  broken  bones,  bones 
out  of  joint,  or  any  grief  in  the  bones  or 
sinews,  oil  of  swallows  was  pronounced 
exceedingly  sovereign,  and  this  was  to  be 
procured  by  pounding  twenty  live  swallows 
in  a  mortar  with  about  as  many  different 
herbs  !  A  mole,  male  or  female  according 


84  A  Club  of  One 

to  the  sex  of  the  patient,  was  to  be  dried 
in  an  oven  whole  as  taken  out  of  the  earth, 
and  administered  in  powder  for  the  epi- 
lepsy. A  gray  eel,  with  a  white  belly,  was 
to  be  inclosed  in  an  earthen  pot,  and  bur- 
ied alive  in  a  dung-hill,  and  at  the  end  of  a 
fortnight  its  oil  might  be  collected  to  "help 
'^  hearing."  A  mixture  of  rose  leaves  and 
pigeon's  dung  quilted  in  a  bag,  and  laid  hot 
upon  the  parts  affected,  was  thought  to 

For  the  help  a  stitch  in  the  side  ;  and  for  the  quinsy, 
"give  the  party  to  drink,"  says  one  of  the 
old  books,  "  the  herb  mouse-ear,  steeped  in 
ale  or  beer ;  and  look  when  you  see  a  swine 
rub  himself,  and  there  upon  the  same  place 
rub  a  slick  stone, -and  then  with  it  slick  all 

TO  make  the  the  swelling,  and  it  will  cure  it."  To  make 
hair  grow  on  a  bald  part  of  the  head,  gar- 
den snails  were  to  be  plucked  out  of  their 
houses,  and  pounded  with  horse  leeches, 
bees,  wasps,  and  salt,  an  equal  quantity  of 
each  ;  and  the  baldness  was  to  be  anointed 
with  a  moisture  from  this  mixture  after  it 
had  been  buried  eight  days  in  a  hotbed. 

Toremove  For  the  removal  and  extirpation  of  super- 
fluous hairs,  a  depilatory  was  to  be  made  by 
drowning  in  a  pint  of  wine  as  many  green 
frogs  as  it  would  cover  (about  twenty  was 
the  number),  setting  the  pot  forty  days  in 


A  Club  of  One  85 

the  sun,  and  then  straining  it  for  use.  A 
water  specially  good  against  gravel  or  For  dropsy. 
dropsy  might  be  distilled  from  the  dried 
and  pulverized  blood  of  a  black  buck  or  he- 
goat,  three  or  four  years  old.  The  animal 
was  to  be  kept  by  himself,  in  the  summer- 
time when  the  sun  was  in  Leo,  and  dieted 
for  three  weeks  upon  certain  herbs  given 
in  prescribed  order,  and  to  drink  nothing 
but  red  wine,  if  you  would  have  the  best 
preparation,  though  some  persons  allowed 
him  his  fill  of  water  every  third  day.  But 
there  was  a  water  of  man's  blood,  which  water  of 

^  -,-,».       i      ,1  »        i  •         man's  blood. 

in  Queen  Elizabeth  s  days  was  a  new  in- 
vention, "  whereof  some  princes  had  very 
great  estimation,  and  used  it  for  to  remain 
thereby  in  their  force,  and,  as  they  thought, 
to  live  long."  A  strong  man  was  to  be 
chosen,  in  his  flourishing  youth,  and  of 
twenty-five  years,  and  somewhat  choleric 
by  nature.  He  was  to  be  well  dieted  for 
one  month  with  light  and  healthy  meats, 
all  kinds  of  spices,  good  strong  wine,  and, 
moreover,  "kept  with  mirth;"  at  the  TO  be  kept 

.,  ,  ,  .  •          i      ^i  witfl  mirth. 

month  s  end,  veins  in  both  arms  were 
opened,  and  as  much  blood  let  out  as  he 
could  "tolerate  and  abide."  One  handful 
of  salt  was  added  to  six  pounds  of  this 
blood,  and  this  was  seven  times  distilled, 


86  A  Club  of  One 

pouring  the  water  upon  the  residuum  after 

every  distillation,  till  the  last.     This  was 

AH  ounce  at  to  be  taken  three  or  four  times  a  year,  an 

a  time. 

ounce  at  a  time. 

Diseased  sensibility  is  one  of  my  worst 
maladies.  I  suffer  from  it,  at  times,  as  no 
mortal  could  know.  It  takes  every  form  of 
mental  misery.  Now  I  am  down  to  a  point 
so  low  that  the  machinery  of  thinking  all 
stops  ;  again  I  just  touch  insanity  itself, 
where  the  mental  machinery  is  all  ready 
to  fly  to  pieces.  Noises,  scarcely  heard  by 
another,  pain  me  to  the  limit  of  distress. 
In  every  nerve  and  fibre  I  tremble  in  terror, 
His  scared  and  my  scared  faculties  lose  all  power  of 
resistance.  I  envy,  from  my  soul,  the  Lapp 

'' 


er  of  resist-          ,,.,,  .,  ,   .  , 

once.  who  drinks  tobacco  oil  as  a  stomachic,  and 
has  a  skin  as  insensible  as  his  stomach.  In 
Lapland,  as  Montesquieu  puts  it,  "  you  must 
flay  a  man  to  make  him  feel."  I  can  well 

Byron  -when  understand  the  sensitiveness  of  Lord  By- 
ron, who,  even  in  dying,  shrunk  away  when 
those  about  him  put  their  hands  near  his 
foot,  as  if  fearing  that  they  should  uncover 
it.  In  his  last  sickness  it  was  thought 
right  to  apply  blisters  to  the  soles  of  his 
feet.  When  on  the  point  of  putting  them 
on,  the  poet  asked  the  attendant  whether  it 


A  Club  of  One  87 

would  answer  the  purpose  to  apply  both  on  TH*  poet's 
the  same  leg.     Guessing  immediately  the  ** 
motive  that  led  him  to  ask  this  question,  the 
nurse  told  him  that  he  would  place  them 
above  the  knees.     "  Do  so,"  was  the  reply. 
I  once  knew  a  man — eminent  in  his  pro- 
fession —  who  carried  an  unsightly  birth- 
mark in  his  face.     I  never  met  him  without 
perceiving  a  slight  shock  of  apprehension, 
lest  I  might  observe  too  closely  his  misfor- 
tune.    Dr.  Franklin  mentions  a  gentleman 
who,  having  one  very  handsome  and  one 
shriveled  leg,  was  wont  to  test  the  dispo-  A  novel  test 
sition  of  a  new  acquaintance  by  observing  £*T*" 
whether  he  or  she  looked  first  or  most  at  the 
best  or  worst  leg.     Erskine  was  intensely 
sensitive,  and  his  acute  sensibility  being  in- 
dependent of  any  and  every  other  malady, 
as  my  sensitiveness  is  not  (to  my  ever- 
lasting distress),  it  helped  him  as  an  advo- 
cate and  orator.    Once,  we  are  told,  he  was 
confused  and  put  out  in  an   impassioned 
address  to  a  jury  by  a  yawning  attorney, 
placed  by  malice  prepense  exactly  in  his  line  Malice pre- 

r       •  i  •  A  ••      •       Pense' 

of  view  under  the  jury-box.  Arrested  in 
his  own  despite  by  the  absent  or  desponding 
look  of  Garrow,  who  was  with  him  in  the 
cause,  he  whispered,"  Who  do  you  think  can 
get  on  with  that  wet  blanket  of  a  face  of 


88  A  Club  of  One 

Erskine^     yours  before  him  ? "     His  maiden  effort  in 

™jfortn  the  House  of  Commons  was  marred  by  the 
real  or  affected  indifference  of  Pitt,  who, 
after  listening  a  few  minutes,  and  taking  a 
note  or  two  as  if  intending  to  reply,  dashed 
pen  and  paper  upon  the  floor  with  a  con- 
temptuous smile.  Erskine  could  not  re- 
cover from  this  expression  of  disdain  ;  "  his 
voice  faltered,  he  struggled  through  the 
remainder  of  his  speech,  and  sank  into  his 
seat  dispirited  and  shorn  of  his  fame."  On 

Pitt1*  utter-  another  occasion,  Pitt  rose  after  Erskine 
and  began :  "  I  rise  to  reply  to  the  right 
honorable  gentleman  (Fox)  who  spoke 
last  but  one.  As  for  the  honorable  and 
learned  gentleman  who  spoke  last,  he  did 
no  more  than  regularly  repeat  what  fell 
from  the  gentleman  who  preceded  him,  and 
as  regularly  weakened  what  he  repeated." 
No  man  ever  existed,  I  believe,  with  more 
acute  and  unavoidable  antipathies  than  my- 

A  story  told  self .  I  can  well  believe  the  story  told  by 
Charles  Lamb,  of  two  persons  meeting  (who 
never  saw  each  other  before  in  their  lives) 
and  instantly  fighting.  Blank,  said  Cole- 
ridge, "  is  one  of  those  men  who  go  far  to 
shake  my  faith  in  a  future  state  of  exist- 
ence ;  I  mean  on  account  of  the  difficulty  of 
knowing  where  to  place  him.  I  could  not 


A  Club  of  One  89 

bear  to  roast  him  ;  he  is  not  so  bad  as  all  Not  bad 
that  comes  to  :  but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  btw^ud. 
to  have  to  sit  down  with  such  a  fellow  in 
the  very  lowest  pot-house  of  heaven  is  ut- 
terly inconsistent  with  the  belief  of  that 
place  being  a  place  of  happiness  for  me." 
There  are  men  who  bully  me  with  their 
immense,  swaggering,  animal  spirits  ;  and 
I  can  imagine  the  distress  of  the  sensitive 
Goldsmith  in  the  presence  of  the  high-fed,  Goldsmith 
gigantic,  aggressive  Foote.     That  element  ** 
of  Macaulay's  character,  which  Palmerston 
called    "  cock-sureness,"    must    have    had 
much  the  same  effect  upon  shrinking  and 
self-distrusting  natures  brought  in  contact 
with  it.     Thorns,  the  founder  and  long  the 
editor  of   Notes  and  Queries,  met  Lord 
Macaulay  in  the  House  of  Lords  one  day,  Anecdote  of 
and  remarked  that  he  could  not  quite  un-  A 
derstand  why  Pope  satirized  Dryden  in  the 
Dunciad.     Macaulay  replied  that  Thorns 
must  be  mistaken,  and  before  an  audience 
of  a  score  of  peers  spoke  with  his  usual  en- 
ergy and  eloquence  in  support  of  his  view 
that  Pope  could  not  and  would  not  have 
lampooned  Dryden.     All  this  time  Thorns 
had  a  copy  of  the  Dunciad  in  his  pocket 
with  a  leaf  turned  down  at  the  passage  to 
which  he  had  referred,  but  he  was  too  well 


go  A  Club  of  One 

bred  to  produce  the  volume.  Sydney 
Smith  said  of  Richard  Lovell  Edgeworth, 
"He  is  fuddled  with  animal  spirits,  giddy 

with  animal       .   _  .         .  .     .          ,,        _ 

spirits.  with  constitutional  joy.  bucn  a  man  to 
come  into  the  presence  of  another  all  quiv- 
ering from  the  effects  of  every  malady 
known  under  the  sun  is  a  calamity.  One 
objection  that  I  have  to  my  new  doctor  is 
that  he  has  too  high  health.  The  mercury 
at  zero,  he  comes  steaming  in  like  a  loco- 
motive. His  features  blaze  like  a  constel- 
lation. And  he  is  a  little  bit  unceremoni- 
ous, too,  at  times.  Courtesy  we  expect,  and 
have  a  right  to,  in  a  fair  degree ;  in  the 

Courtesy  a  doctor  it  is  a  commodity  —  we  pay  for  it. 
To  the  point  of  obeisance  or  obsequious- 
ness, however,  it  is  as  offensive  as  brusque- 
ness  or  boorishness.  Mrs.  Basil  Montagu 
met  Burns,  and  pronounced  him  "  the  most 
royally  courteous  of  mankind."  In  his 
sense  of  manhood  he  never  forgot  the  man. 
In  that  portrait  of  Nasmyth's  he  carries 

Bums  a       the  brow  and  mien  of  a  natural  gentleman. 

natural  .  .  A  . 

gentleman.  Ah,  a  gentleman  !  A  rarer  thing,  thought 
Thackeray,  than  some  of  us  think  for. 
Which  of  us  can  point  out  many  such  in  his 
circle,  —  men  whose  aims  are  generous, 
whose  truth  is  constant  and  elevated ;  who 
can  look  the  world  honestly  in  the  face,  with 


A  Club  of  One  91 

an  equal  manly  sympathy  for  the  great  and  Great  and 
the  small  ?     We  all  know  a  hundred  whose 


coats  are  well  made,  and  a  score  who  have 
excellent  manners  ;  but  of  gentlemen  how 
many  ?  Let  us  take  a  little  scrap  of  paper 
and  each  make  out  his  list.  An  amusing 
illustration  of  obeisance  is  in  that  most  gro- 
tesque figure  in  Serjeant  Ballantine's  book 
of  Experiences,  of  a  decently  dressed,  quiet- 
looking  man  who  used  to  present  himself  A  grotesque 

.  scene. 

after  dinner  to  the  judges  and  counsel  on 
the  last  day  of  the  Old  Bailey  sessions. 
Upon  his  appearance  he  was  always  pre- 
sented with  a  glass  of  wine,  and  this  he 
drank  to  the  health  of  his  patrons,  express- 
ing "  with  becoming  modesty  his  gratitude 
for  past  favors  and  his  hopes  for  favors  to 
come."  It  was  Calcraft,  the  hangman  !  In 
contrast  with  that  is  the  royal  language 
of  Byron,  in  one  of  his  Dedications.  After 
the  words  "  Scott  alone,"  Byron  inserted, 
in  a  parenthesis,  —  "  He  will  excuse  the 
Mr.  —  we  do  not  say  Mr.  Caesar."  Good- 
breeding  is  not  wholly  acquired  ;  to  some 
extent,  like  genius,  it  is  the  gift  of  God. 
When  two  persons  of  exceptional  good- 
breeding  (says  Holmes)  meet  in  the  midst 
of  the  common  multitude,  they  seek  each 
other's  company  at  once  by  the  natural  law 


92  A  Club  of  One 

Elective       of  elective  affinities.     It  is  wonderful  how 

affinities,  ,  _  r 

men  and  women  know  their  peers.  If  two 
strange  queens,  sole  survivors  of  two  ship- 
wrecked vessels,  were  cast,  half-naked,  on  a 
rock  together,  each  would  at  once  address 
the  other  as  "  Our  Royal  Sister."  Louis 
Louis  xiv.  XIV.  was  told  that  Lord  Stair  was  one 
of  the  best-bred  men  in  Europe.  "  I  shall 
soon  put  hirn  to  the  test,"  said  the  king ; 
and  asking  Lord  Stair  to  take  an  airing 
with  him,  as  soon  as  the  door  of  the  coach 
was  opened,  he  bade  him  pass  and  get  in. 
The  other  bowed  and  obeyed.  The  king 
said,  "The  world  is  in  the  right,  in  the 
character  it  gives  —  another  person  would 
have  troubled  me  with  ceremony/' 

Politeness  of      It  has  been  said  that  never  was  man  so 

Louis  XIV.         , .  _         .      ^rTT_         _ 

polite  as  Louis  XIV.  He  never  passed  a 
woman,  however  lowly  her  position,  even 
though  she  were  one  of  the  menials  of  his 
palace,  without  raising  his  hat,  and  the 
whole  time  he  conversed  with  a  lady  he 
remained  uncovered.  And  yet  never  was 
man  more  selfish  and  indifferent  to  the 
convenience  of  both  man  and  woman ; 
no  matter  what  might  be  the  state  of  the 
weather,  no  matter  how  delicate  might  be 
their  health,  he  insisted  upon  all  the  la- 


A  Club  of  One  9} 

dies  of  the  court  attending  him  in  his  long  selfishness 

..    .  .  ,    incarnate. 

drives  or  promenades,  sometimes  continued 
through  several  hours,  beneath  a  burning 
sun  or  in  frost  and  snow.  Sometimes  they 
fell  fainting  from  their  horses  with  illness, 
or  fatigue,  but  such  incidents  never  moved 
him.  "  Tell  Murray,"  said  Sydney  Smith 
to  Jeffrey,  "  that  I  was  much  struck  with 
the  politeness  of  Miss  Markham  the  day 
after  he  went.  In  carving  a  partridge,  I 
splashed  her  with  gravy  from  head  to  foot ; 
and  though  I  saw  three  distinct  brown  rills 
of  animal  juice  trickling  down  her  cheek, 
she  had  the  complaisance  to  swear  that  not 
a  drop  had  reached  her ! "  I  have  heard  Mr. 
Eraser  say  (says  Wraxall,  in  his  Historical 
Memoirs),  who  was,  during  many  years, 
under-secretary  of  state,  that  in  1 760,  a  few 
months  before  the  king  died,  having  occa- 
sion to  present  a  paper  to  him  for  his  sig- 
nature, at  Kensington,  George  the  Second  George  //. 
took  the  pen  in  his  hand  ;  and  having,  as 
he  conceived,  affixed  his  name  to  it,  re- 
turned it  to  Fraser.  But  so  defective  was 
his  vision,  that  he  had  neither  dipped  his 
pen  in  the  ink,  nor  did  he  perceive  that  of 
course  he  had  only  drawn  it  over  the  paper, 
without  making  any  impression.  Fraser,  Fraser's 
aware  of  the  king's  blindness,  yet  unwill- 


94  4  Club  of  One 

ing  to  let  his  majesty  observe  that  he  dis- 
covered it,  said,  "  Sir,  I  have  given  you  so 
bad  a  pen,  that  it  will  not  write.  Allow  me 
to  present  you  a  better  for  the  purpose." 
Then  dipping  it  himself  in  the  ink,  he  re- 
turned it  to  the  king,  who,  without  making 
any  remark,  instantly  signed  the  paper.  It 
is  said  that  towards  a  chancellor  whom  Sir 
sugden  and  Edward  Sugden  liked  he  could  be  as  sweet 
as  summer.  Lord  Cottenham  one  day  fell 
asleep  on  the  bench.  Sir  Edward  imme- 
diately paused.  The  cessation  of  sound 
had  the  customary  effect  of  awakening  the 
chancellor.  "Why  don't  you  go  on,  Sir  Ed- 
ward ? "  "I  thought  your  lordship  might 
be  looking  over  your  notes,"  was  the  bland 
response.  This,  of  course,  pleased  the  chan- 
cellor, who  was  liable  to  doze,  and  hated 
anybody  noticing  it.  Horace  Greeley  said 
he  had  never  been  beaten  in  politeness  but 
once.  That  happened,  he  said,  many  years 
before.  Early  one  morning  he  left  Bragg's 
Hotel,  at  Utica,  in  the  stage-coach,  west- 
ward bound.  There  was  but  one  passenger 
besides  himself,  —  a  gentleman  of  very  pre- 
possessing appearance,  with  whom  he  soon 
fell  into  conversation.  After  a  while  the 
stranger  slowly  and,  as  it  were,  mechani- 
cally drew  a  cigar-case  from  his  pocket,  and, 


A  Club  of  One  95 

opening  it,  tendered  it  to  Mr.  Greeley,  who 
declined  the  kind  offer.     The  conversation  Declines  a 
was  resumed  ;  and  presently  the  stranger, 
extracting  a  cigar  from  the  case,  placed  it 
in  his  mouth,  and  returned  the  case  to  his 
pocket.     Another  interval  of  talk  ensued, 
when  the  stranger  abruptly  but  deferen- 
tially remarked  to  Mr.  Greeley,  "  I  hope, 
sir,  you   have  no  objection    to  a  cigar?" 
"  None   in    the   world,    sir,"   replied   Mr. 
Greeley,  "when  it  is  not  alight."     "Oh," 
said  his  companion,  "  I  had  not  the  most 
remote   thought  of  lighting   it."      There-  Conquered 
upon  Mr.  Greeley  felt  that  he  had  been  ** 
conquered  in  politeness. 

As  to  compliments,  I  employ  myself  rec- 
ollecting a  few  that  are  remarkable  in  lit- 
erature. It  was  told  of  Lord  Ashbrook, 
who  never  touched  a  feather  during  an 
entire  day's  shooting  at  Holkham,  that  the 
keeper,  by  way  of  consolation,  remarked 
that  he  had  seen  people  shoot  worse  than 
his  lordship.  "  How  can  that  be  when  I 
have  missed  bird  after  bird?"  "Ay,  but  AH  amusing 

iii'  •  i  i  i  »»        A  r     compliment. 

your  lordship  misses  them  so  clean  !  Af- 
ter his  overthrow,  Hannibal  took  refuge 
at  the  court  of  Prusias,  King  of  Bithynia. 
There  Scipio  came  on  an  embassy.  The 


g6  A  Club  of  One 

two  great  rivals  met,  and  in  conversation 
Scipio  asked  Hannibal  whom  he  considered 
the  greatest  commander.  "Alexander,"  was 
the  reply.  "  And  who  next  ?  "  "  Pyrrhus." 
"  And  who  after  him  ?  "  "  Myself."  "  And 
what  would  you  have  said  if  you  had  beaten 
me  at  Zena  ?  "  "  In  that  case  I  should  have 
put  myself  before  Alexander  and  Pyrrhus 
and  all  other  generals."  Mademoiselle  Ra- 

Racheiand  chel  was  very  anxious  to  have  her  portrait 
taken  by  Ingres,  and  made  an  appointment 
with  him  at  his  studio  to  talk  the  mat- 
ter over.  In  the  course  of  conversation 
he  remarked  that  in  order  to  do  justice  to 
his  model  he  should  require  at  least  fifty 
sittings  of  from  two  to  three  hours  each. 
"  How  long  will  it  be  before  the  portrait  is 
completed  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  Four  or  five 
years,"  was  the  painter's  reply.  "  Misery  ! " 
exclaimed  Rachel ;  "  then  I  must  abandon 
the  idea,  for  I  may  be  dead  and  buried  be- 
fore you  have  immortalized  me."  "Ma- 
demoiselle," answered  Ingres,  with  a  smile, 
"  I  have  no  such  pretension ;  your  own 
genius  has  already  saved  me  the  trouble." 

one  of        Allen,  one  of  Leigh  Hunt's  school-fellows, 

Hunt's 

school-         was  so  handsome,  that  running   one  day 

fellows.  .  J 

against  a  barrow-woman  in  the  street,  and 
turning  round  to  appease  her  in  the  midst 


A  Club  of  One  97 

of  her  abuse,  she  said,  "Where  are  you 
driving  to,  you  great  hulking,  good-for- 
nothing,  beautiful  fellow,  God  bless  you  !  " 
Voltaire,  being  on  a  visit  to  a  very  lovely  Voltaire. 
woman,  said  to  her,  "  Your  rivals  are  the 
curious  works  of  art ;  you  are  the  most  com- 
plete work  of  nature."  Dr.  Johnson  paid  a 
fine  compliment  to  the  wife  of  Dr.  Beattie, 
when  he  wrote  to  Boswell,  "Of  Dr.  Beattie  Johnson  to 

Boswell. 

I  should  have  thought  much,  but  that  his 
lady  puts  him  out  of  my  head ;  she  is  a  very 
lovely  woman."     Colley  Gibber  alluded  to  coiiey 
the  Duchess  of  Marlborough  as  possessing 
something  that  distinguished  her  above  all 
the  women  of   her   time,  —  a   distinction 
which  she  received  not  from  earthly  sover- 
eigns, but  "from  the  Author  of  Nature;" 
that  of  being  "  a  great-grandmother  with-  Duchess 
out  gray  hairs."     But  the  most  extravagant  loratgk. 
compliment  —  the  most   magnificent    dis- 
play of  gallantry  —  is  recorded  by  Madame 
de  Genlis,  in  her  Memoirs.     Madame  de 
Blot,  then  very  young,  one  day  said  in  the 
presence  of  the  Prince  of  Conti,  that  she 
wished  to  have  the  portrait  of  her  canary 
in  a  ring.     The  prince  offered  to  give  her 
the  portrait  and  the  ring,  which  Madame  Madame  <b 
de  Blot  accepted,  on  condition  that  the  ring 
should  be  mounted  in  the  simplest  manner, 


98  A  Club  of  One 

The  ring,  and  not  set  with  stones.  The  ring  was,  in 
fact,  only  a  hoop  of  gold,  but  instead  of  a 
glass  to  cover  the  portrait,  a  large  dia- 
mond had  been  used,  which  was  ground  as 
thin  as  glass.  Madame  de  Blot  discovered 
this  piece  of  prodigality,  and  returned  the 
diamond ;  upon  which  the  Prince  of  Conti 
caused  the  diamond  to  be  ground  into  pow- 
der, and  used  it  to  dry  the  ink  of  the  letter 

The  prince^  he  wrote  on  the  subject  to  Madame  de 
Blot.  And  so  I  run  on  in  a  rambling  way, 
dwelling  on  pleasant  things  in  my  library, 
as  a  resource  and  remedy  for  my  desperate 
malady.  But  I  cannot  close  my  record  of 
the  day  without  referring  to  an  incident 
pleasanter  than  any  I  have  cited  to  a  man 
in  my  lone,  lorn,  miserable  condition  — 
mentioned  by  Dr.  Johnson.  "  I  knew, " 

A  verypret-  said  the  doctor,  "  a  very  pretty  instance  of 

ty  instance.  , .      -  .    ,        r       ,  '     -      '. 

a  little  girl,  of  whom  her  father  was  very 
fond,  who  once  when  he  was  in  a  melan- 
choly fit,  and  had  gone  to  bed,  persuaded 
him  to  rise  in  good  humor  by  saying,  '  My 
dear  papa,  please  to  get  up,  and  let  me 
help  you  on  with  your  clothes,  that  I  may 
learn  to  do  it  when  you  are  an  old  man/  " 
,  Ah  !  solar  systems  for  such  a  child  ! 

Lord   Chancellor   Brougham   was   once 


A  Club  of  One  99 

asked  to  define  a  lawyer.  "A  lawyer,"  he  Brought*?* 
said,  "is  a  learned  gentleman  who  rescues 
your  estate  from  your  enemies  and  keeps 
it  himself."  My  observation  and  experi- 
ence, too,  prove  to  me  the  truthfulness  of 
the  definition.  My  agent  came  to  me  yes- 
terday to  say  that  the  claim  left  in  the 
hands  of  a  lawyer  in  Illinois  for  collection 
is  lost !  —  the  rascal  having  pocketed  the 
amount,  in  addition  to  moneys  from  time 
to  time  advanced  to  him  as  fees.  The  vil- 
lainy is  a  surprise  and  a  great  vexation, 

.  ant  surprise. 

for  the  reason  that  the  rascal  was  highly 
recommended  to  me  for  probity  and  honor. 
How  many  comforts  that  thousand  dollars 
or  so  would  have  bought  me  !  How  many 
physician's  visits  and  apothecary's  bills  it 
would  have  paid  !  The  debtor,  it  appears, 
was  an  honest  man  ;  the  incorruptible  at- 
torney employed  to  hunt  him  down  turns  The  lawyer 
out  to  be  the  thief.  Time  was  when  such 
villainy  might  have  been  punished.  Not 
now.  The  profession  stand  together  for 
mutual  protection.  Now  and  then  an  ef- 
fort is  made  to  disbar  an  attorney  for  crim- 
inal practices,  and  as  often  it  fails.  Deal- 
ing so  habitually  in  tricks  and  perjuries, 
the  feeble  promptings  and  declarations  of 
truth  are  unfelt  and  unheeded.  It  was 


700 


A  Club  of  One 


Caleb  Bal- 
derston. 


Peter- 
borough. 


Lying. 


Caleb  Balderston,  I  believe,  the  faithful 
seneschal  at  Wolfs  Crag,  that  was  always 
telling  "  lees  "  for  the  "  credit  of  the  fam- 
ily." So  the  legal  profession,  quarrel  as 
they  may  and  do,  amongst  themselves,  — 
saying  things  to  one  another  that  go  to 
the  sources  of  character,  —  are  neverthe- 
less always  ready  in  words  of  excuse,  de- 
fense, and  approbation  of  one  another. 
No  matter  how  many  estates  they  swallow 
up,  they  are  innocency  incarnate.  The  fly 
once  into  the  parlor  of  the  spider,  it  is  the 
holy  of  holies.  And  tke  spiders  are  in 
league  with  one  another.  They  inveigle 
to  ruin.  Peterborough  is  made  to  say  by 
Landor,  and  very  justly,  "  If  an  English 
lawyer  is  in  danger  of  starving  in  a  mar- 
ket-town or  village,  he  invites  another,  and 
both  thrive."  The  more  the  better.  They 
inspire  quarrels,  and  grow  rich  settling 
them.  They  suggest  the  indispensable 
testimony,  and  it  is  supplied.  "  I  want  to 
go  into  a  coal-mine,"  said  Tom  Sheridan, 
"in  order  to  say  I  have  been  there." 
"  Well,  then,  say  so,"  replied  the  admirable 
father.  Lying  is  so  easy,  and  is  so  freely 
excused.  "  To  lie  for  a  friend,"  said  Vol- 
taire, "  is  friendship's  first  duty.  Lying  is 
a  vice  only  when  it  does  harm  ;  it  is  a  very 


A  Club  of  One  roi 

great  virtue  when  it  does  good."    There  is 

a  story  of  an  Irishman  on  his  trial  for  a  story  of  an 

felony  who  brought  witnesses  to  speak  for 

his  character.     They  bore  their  testimony 

but  too  effectually,  —  the  catalogue  of  the 

novel  virtues  which  were  attributed  to  him 

so  perplexed  his  imagination  that  he  cried 

out  in  court,  "  My  lord,  if  I  had  but  known 

what  I  was,  I  would  not  have  done  it !  " 

The  effect  was  just  as  surprising  but  very 

different  in  a  case  of  Serjeant  Ballantine's,  A  case  of 

\  .  Ballantitte's. 

reported  in  his  interesting  Experiences. 
One  of  his  first  briefs  was  given  to  him  by 
a  rather  shady  attorney  of  the  Jewish  per- 
suasion :  and  being  at  that  time  without 
experience,  young  Ballantine  yielded  im- 
plicitly to  his  instructions.  A  young  gen- 
tleman of  the  same  faith,  he  says,  was 
called  as  a  witness.  My  client  suggested 
a  question.  Blindly  I  put  it,  and  was 
met  by  a  direct  negative.  "  What  a  lie  !  " 
ejaculated  my  client,  and  dictated  another 
question  :  the  same  result  followed,  and 
a  similar  ejaculation.  By  his  further  in- 
struction I  put  a  third,  the  answer  to 
which  completely  knocked  us  over.  My  Knocked 
client  threw  himself  back.  "  Well,"  said  *" 
he,  "  he  is  a  liar,  he  always  was  a  liar,  and 
always  will  be  a  liar."  "  Why,"  remarked 


IO2  A  Club  of  One 

I,  "you  seem  to  know  all  about  him." 
"  Of  course  I  do,"  was  the  reply ;  "  he  is 

Lying.  my  own  son  !  "  Lying,  says  Leigh  Hunt, 
is  the  commonest  and  most  conventional 
of  all  the  vices.  It  pervades,  more  or  less, 
every  class  of  the  community,  and  is  fan- 
cied to  be  so  necessary  to  the  carrying 
on  of  human  affairs,  that  the  practice  is 
tacitly  agreed  upon  ;  nay,  in  other  terms, 
openly  avowed.  In  the  monarch,  it  is 
kingcraft.  In  the  statesman,  expediency. 
In  the  churchman,  mental  reservation.  In 
the  lawyer,  the  interest  of  his  client.  In 
the  merchant,  manufacturer,  and  shop- 

secrets  of  keeper,  secrets  of  trade.  Says  Taine,  the 
best  of  men  in  Paris  lie  ten  times  a  day  ; 
the  best  of  women  twenty  times  a  day ; 
the  fashionable  man  a  hundred  times  a 
day.  No  estimate  has  ever  been  made  as 
to  how  many  times  a  day  a  fashionable 

Father        woman  lies.     Father  Holt,  the  Jesuit,  in 

Holt 

Esmond,  said  to  the  boy,  Henry,  "  that 
if  to  keep  silence  is  not  to  lie,  as  it  cer- 
tainly is  not,  yet  silence  is,  after  all,  equiv- 
alent to  a  negation,  and  therefore  a  down- 
right No,  in  the  interest  of  justice  or  your 
friend,  and  in  reply  to  a  question  that  may 
be  prejudicial  to  either,  is  not  criminal,  but 
on  the  contrary,  praiseworthy ;  and  as  law- 


A  Club  of  One  103 

ful  a  way  as  the  other  of  eluding  a  wrong- 
ful demand."  The  bad  in  human  nature  The  bad  in 
is  generously  accommodated.  There  are  ture. 
good  and  bad  notes  in  most  voices,  it  is 
said  —  I  know  little  about  it  myself.  On 
one  occasion,  in  Italy,  a  composer  wrote 
his  solos  for  one  of  his  opera  singers  in  a 
way  to  bring  in  all  his  worst  notes  very 
frequently ;  but  it  was  to  get  rid  of  him. 
Happy  if  the  exposure  of  evil  in  the  legal  Professional 
profession  resulted  in  the  same  manner. 
But  hired  sin  becomes  brazen,  and  virtue, 
as  a  consequence,  shamefaced.  It  has 
been  remarked  as  a  noticeable  fact  that  all 
contributions  to  the  "  conscience  fund " 
are  made  anonymously.  Can  it  be,  it  has 
been  asked,  that  the  man  with  a  con- 
science is  ashamed  of  it  ?  Too  tender  a 
conscience  has  been  remarked  upon  by 
Goethe  as  objectionable.  He  spoke  of  a 
boy  who  could  not  console  himself  after 
he  had  committed  a  trifling  fault  "  I  was 
sorry  to  observe  this,"  said  Goethe,  "for  Goethe  on 

. ,        ,  ,  .  ,    .    ,      a  too  tender 

it  shows  a  too  tender  conscience,  which  conscience. 
values  so  highly  its  own  moral  self  that  it 
will  excuse  nothing  in  it."  Such  a  con- 
science, he  thought,  makes  unhealthy  char- 
acters, if  it  is  not  balanced  by  great  ac- 
tivity. Two  consciences  are  suggested  as 


104  A  Club  of  One 

TWO  con-      useful   by   Talleyrand.      A   distinguished 
personage  remarked  to  him,  "  In  the  upper 


chamber  at  least  are  to  be  found  men  pos- 
sessed of  consciences."  "  Consciences," 
replied  Talleyrand,  "  to  be  sure  :  I  know 
many  a  peer  who  has  got  two."  Society 
grows  more  and  more  lenient  towards  vil- 

statutesand  lainy.  Statutes,  more  and  more,  are  being 
framed  by  the  criminal  lawyers  for  the 
benefit  of  criminals.  Penalties,  too,  are 
being  lessened  and  lessened.  A  breach  of 
verbal  contract  is  not  any  very  great  mat- 
ter in  these  days  of  universal  enlighten- 
ment and  much  preaching  ;  but  think  of 
the  penalty  for  it  in  the  Zendavesta  — 
liability  of  the  next  of  kin  to  the  ninth 
degree,  and  three  hundred  years  in  hell  ! 

The  first  The  first  lawyer,  I  believe,  that  we  have 
any  account  of  in  Holy  Writ  is  Jonadab, 
who  is  described  by  the  inspired  writer  as 
a  "very  subtile  man."  He  was  consulted 
by  Amnon  in  the  sin  against  Tamar  his 
sister.  He  was  an  arch  pettifogger,  I  have 
no  doubt.  He  gave  the  devilish  advice  and 
disappeared  from  the  scene.  Jonadab,  the 
"subtile  man  :  "  a  fair  type,  I  should  think, 
of  too  great  a  proportion  of  the  lawyers 
—  next  in  the  order  of  approximate  total 
depravity  to  the  hypocritical  priests  and 


A  Club  of  One  105 

corrupt  judges.  A  convenient,  elastic  con- 
science, subtilty,  and  what  is  vulgarly 
called  "  cheek,"  are  indispensable.  "  I 
would  rather  have  your  cheek,"  said  a  gen- 
tleman to  a  petty  attorney,  "  than  a  license 
to  steal."  Any  way  to  accomplish  an  ob- 
ject ;  but  the  audacious  or  cunning  way, 
being  most  professional,  is  preferred.  In 
their  covert  practices  they  sometimes  re- 
mind me  of  the  blood-sucking  bats  of  South 
America,  described  by  Wallace.  The  ex-  ingbats' 
act  manner  in  which  the  animal  attacks  is 
not  positively  known,  as  the  sufferer  never 
feels  the  wound.  The  motion  of  the  wings 
fans  the  sleeper  into  a  deeper  slumber,  and 
renders  him  insensible  to  the  gentle  abra- 
sion of  the  skin  either  by  teeth  or  tongue. 
Thus  ultimately  forms  a  minute  opening, 
the  blood  flowing  from  which  is  sucked  or 
lapped  up  by  the  hovering  vampire.  "  Keep  Advice  of 
out  of  chancery,"  said  old  Krook,  in  oldKrook> 
Bleak  House.  "  For,"  said  he,  "it 's  being 
ground  to  bits  in  a  slow  mill ;  it 's  being 
roasted  at  a  slow  fire  ;  it 's  being  stung  to 
death  by  single  bees  ;  it 's  being  drowned 
by  drops  ;  it's  going  mad  by  grains."  As 
to  advocacy,  I  have  long  thought  with 
Carlyle,  that  it  is  a  strange  trade.  "  Your 
intellect,  your  highest  heavenly  gift,  hung 


io6  A  Club  of  One 

up  in  the  shop-window  like  a  loaded  pistol 
for  sale  ;  will  either  blow  out  a  pestilent 
scoundrel's  brains,  or  the  scoundrel's  salu- 
tary sheriff's  officer's  (in  a  sense),  as  you 
please  to  choose  for  your  guinea."  Some- 
times, in  a  generous  mood,  I  am  re- 
in  minded  of  Paddy 's  suggestion  of  economy 
in  justice,  and  feel  like  commending  it  as  a 
stroke  of  policy.  It  occurred  in  the  case 
of  an  outlaw,  who  was  a  blacksmith,  con- 
demned to  transportation  for  life,  but  who 
excited  powerful  sympathy  on  the  score 
of  his  professional  merits.  He  lived  in  a 
hunting  county  where  his  aid  was  thought 
so  valuable  that  an  application  was  made 
to  the  judge  in  order  that  his  sentence 
might  be  mitigated.  "  He  is  the  only 
man,  your  honor,"  said  the  influential  dep- 
utation, "  who  can  shoe  a  horse  for  miles 
about  us."  "  Impossible,  gentlemen,"  re- 
impiacabie  plied  the  Rhadamanthus ;  "  an  example 
thus.  *  l~  must  be  made."  "Very  true,"  observed 
the  applicants ;  "  but,  you  see,  we  have  got 
only  one  blacksmith,  whilst  we  have  a 
number  of  attorneys.  Could  n't  you  take 
one  of  the  attorneys  ?  "  Though  com- 
mending the  suggestion,  I  am  happy  to  re- 
cord that  I  know  at  least  one  lawyer  who 
is  an  honest  man.  His  big  brain  is  the 


A  Club  of  One  707 

home  of  wisdom,  and  "  the  Ten  Command- 
ments are  written  on  his  countenance." 

Integrity,  entireness,  soundness  to  the  integrity. 
core.  I  do  like  an  honest  man.  He  re- 
alizes the  precept,  in  passing  every  day  as 
the  last,  and  in  being  neither  violently  ex- 
cited nor  torpid,  nor  playing  the  hypo- 
crite. He  stands  a  man,  responsible  to 
all  men  for  all  the  manhood  there  is  in 
him.  He  is  known  and  read,  and  his  life 
is  in  no  sense  a  lie.  He  so  lives  with  man 
"  as  considering  that  God  sees  him,  and  so 
speaks  to  God  as  if  men  heard  him."  "  I 
look  upon  the  simple  and  childish  virtues 
of  veracity  and  honesty,"  says  Emerson,  veracity 
"  as  the  root  of  all  that  is  sublime  in  char-  M 
acter.  Speak  as  you  think,  be  what  you 
are,  pay  your  debts  of  all  kinds.  I  prefer 
to  be  owned  as  sound  and  solvent,  and  my 
word  as  good  as  my  bond,  and  to  be  what 
cannot  be  skipped,  or  dissipated,  or  under- 
mined, to  all  the  e"clat  in  the  universe." 
Society  could  not  exist  for  a  day  without 
moral  honesty  ;  it  is  as  the  hair  in  the  Moral kon- 
mortar  which  holds  the  elements  together. 
There  must  be  integrity,  if  everything  is 
not  to  be  artificial  and  conventional.  Gen- 
eral Thomas  said  that  the  prime  essential 


io8  A  Club  of  One 

in  dealing  with  the  Indians  was  to  tell  the 

tell  the  truth  ,,      ,  ,        ,  ,  , 

to  the  in-  truth,  to  tell  the  truth  always,  and  to  keep 
a  promise,  because  to  the  white  man  when 
you  failed  to  keep  a  promise  you  could 
give  an  apology  that  might  be  compre- 
hended, but  the  Indian  never  understood 
if  you  did  not  keep  your  agreement.  Va- 
lerius records  that  Fabius  redeemed  cer- 
tain captives  by  the  promise  of  a  sum  of 
money ;  which  when  the  senate  refused  to 
confirm,  he  sold  all  the  property  he  pos- 
sessed, and  with  the  produce  paid  down 
the  stipulated  sum,  caring  less  to  be  poor 
in  lands  than  poor  in  honesty.  Confucius 

A  saying  of  said,  "At  first,  my  way  with  men  was  to 

Confucius- 

hear  their  words,  and  give  them  credit  for 
their  conduct.  Now,  my  way  is  to  hear 
their  words,  and  look  at  their  conduct." 
"  They  that  cry  down  moral  honesty,"  said 
old  John  Selden,  "  cry  down  that  which  is 
a  great  part  of  religion,  my  duty  towards 
God,  and  my  duty  towards  man.  What 
care  I  to  see  a  man  run  after  a  sermon,  if 
he  cozens  and  cheats  as  soon  as  he  comes 
home  ?  "  Religion  were  emptiness  and 
oraihon-  pretence  without  moral  honesty  ;  and  only 
sentimentalists  and  illuminists  in  religion 
denounce  it.  When  a  preacher,  of  good 
sense,  fairly  upon  his  feet,  inveighs  against 


wit. 

mm 
esty 


A  Club  of  One  109 

morality,  I  set  it  down  mathematically 
that  he  is  either  uncandid  or  mercenary. 
I  have  noticed  that  such  (when  not  irre- 
sponsible  from  enthusiasm)  almost  invari-  m 
ably  illustrated  their  discourses  in  a  way 
unconsciously  to  denote  their  irrepressi- 
ble, constitutional  thrift ;  and  threatened 
to  resign  their  pastorates  if  their  salaries 
were  not  promptly  paid.  It  was  apparent 
enough  that  they  knew  perfectly  well  that 
houses  are  not  built  by  beginning  at  the 
roof ;  yet  they  reasoned  preposterously 
that  characters  could  be  built  in  that  ab- 
surd manner.  Balloons,  that  move  with 
the  air,  are  not  structures  to  resist  the 
tempests ;  temples,  that  outlast  the  storm, 
have  rock  foundations.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  edifice  which  is  destined  to  stand,  and 
to  show  no  crack  or  flaw  for  ages,  are 
great,  invisible,  well-dressed  stones,  per- 
fectly leveled,  and  perfectly  laid  in  ce- 
ment. So  at  the  foundation  of  the  charac-  Attke/o 
ter  of  every  honest  man  there  are  virtues 
and  elements,  cemented  and  established, 
that  are  destined  to  make  it  worthily  ev- 
erlasting. They  are  invisible,  and  were 
not  for  a  moment  thought  of  as  to  be  seen 
by  the  architect.  The  honest  man  feels 
himself  continually  searched  bv  the  eve  of 


1 10 


A  Club  of  One 


Substance 
and  shadow* 


Conscience 
and  con- 
sciousness. 


God,  and  the  observation  and  estimate  of 
the  world  are  of  secondary  importance  to 
him.  He  distinguishes  between  the  real 
substance,  character,  and  its  shadow,  repu- 
tation. He  is  careful  about  repeating  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  as  he  cannot  help  regard- 
ing it  as  a  test  of  himself,  as  well  as  an 
act  of  adoration  to  the  Deity.  Before 
pronouncing  the  words,  Forgive  us  our 
debts,  as  we  also  have  forgiven  our  debt- 
ors, he  hesitates,  and  inquisition  begins. 
Conscience  dons  the  ermine,  and  con- 
sciousness testifies.  Conceit  of  superex- 
cellence  is  not  a  natural  result  of  such 
self-examination.  The  ideal  seems  further 
from  attainment  with  every  effort ;  but  ef- 
fort is  encouraged  to  become  habitual  by 
increased  sense  of  responsibility.  An  in- 
dividual, not  responsible  to  party  or  sect, 
he  has  a  conscience  directly  toward  God. 
Doing  his  best  to  live  virtuously  and  walk 
humbly,  he  confidently  trusts  the  Creator 
to  take  care  of  the  creature.  With  the 
highest  standards  of  conduct  practicable 
or  attainable,  he  judges  himself  not  less 
The  Golden  severely  than  others.  The  Golden  Rule 
he  believes  to  be  particularly  for  self-ap- 
plication. His  moral  anchorages  are  fixed 
and  habitual.  There  are  things  that  un- 


A  Club  of  One  1 1 1 

der  no  possible  circumstances  would  he 
do.  His  principles  are  in  such  constant  Principles 
use  that  they  have  the  look  of  instincts,  "tine™' 
His  morals  are  so  constantly  applied  that 
they  have  the  appearance  of  habits.  He 
has  realized  the  precept  of  Plutarch,  that 
habit  soon  makes  right  conduct  easy. 
Habit,  indeed,  he  has  discovered  to  be 
omnipotent.  "All  is  habit,"  says  Metas- 
tasio, — "even  virtue  itself."  In  brutes, 
even,  he  has  seen  the  controlling  effect  of 
discipline.  It  is  related  that  during  the 
Franco-German  war,  after  the  slaughter  at 
Vionville,  a  strange  and  touching  spectacle  A  touching 
was  presented.  On  the  evening  call  being  *** 
sounded  by  the  first  regiment  of  Dragoons 
of  the  Guard,  six  hundred  and  two  rider- 
less horses  answered  to  the  summons, — 
jaded,  and  in  many  cases  maimed.  The 
noble  animals  still  retained  their  disci- 
plined habits.  But  deeper  than  discipline 
or  habit  —  far  down  below  either  —  the 
character  of  a  thoroughly  honest  man  takes 
root.  Hawthorne  said  of  his  trusted  as- 
sistant in  the  custom-house  at  Salem,  that 
his  integrity  was  a  law  of  nature  with  him  integrity  a 

J  law  ofna- 

rather  than  a  choice  or  a  principle.     The  *»•*• 
life  of  the  thoroughly  honest  man,   as  I 
have  said,  is  in  no  sense  a  lie.     His  acts 


112 


A  Club  of  One 


Awful  hy- 
pocrisy. 


Acts  and  are  better  than  his  professions.  He  per* 
fro/en.  .  £ormSj  jf  possible,  his  promises.  In  a  pub- 
lie  or  fiduciary  capacity  he  acts  as  if  his  re- 
sponsibilities were  personal.  He  does  not 
turn  thief  when  elected  to  office.  He  does 
not  sink  his  soul  in  a  corporation.  He 
knows  no  friend  in  court.  He  does  not 
deliberately  swallow  up  estates  by  manipu- 
lating weak  judges  and  procuring  straw- 
bail,  and  afterward  mercifully  call  the  at- 
tention of  the  Almighty  to  the  sins  and 
short-comings  of  the  women  and  children 
and  imbeciles  he  has  swindled  and  ruined. 
He  does  not  live  and  flourish  at  a  great 
rate  at  others'  expense.  The  dollar  in  his 
pocket  is  not  his  if  he  owes  any  man  a  dol- 
lar. Scrupulous  in  meeting  his  obliga- 
tions, he  is  careful  about  incurring  them. 
Patches  on  his  clothing  are  of  little  mo- 
ment compared  with  blotches  of  discredit 
on  his  character.  If  by  fraud  or  an  act  of 
God  his  affairs  have  suffered,  his  creditors 
are  the  first  to  be  notified.  He  does  not 
go  on  from  bad  to  worse  till  his  neighbors 
who  have  trusted  him  are  cheated  and  con- 
founded. He  does  not  with  the  wheels  of 
his  equipage  splash  the  mud  of  the  streets 
upon  poor  pedestrians,  when  his  whole  ef- 
fects would  pay  only  a  small  part  of  his 


Conduct  in 
extremity. 


A  Club  of  One 

indebtedness.  He  makes  a  clean  breast 
to  his  butcher  and  baker,  as  well  as  to  his  "' 
banker,  that  neither  may  have  any  advan- 
tage over  the  other.  He  takes  no  advan- 
tage of  oversight  or  neglect,  and  meets 
misfortune  more  than  half  way.  His  pre- 
cepts and  practices  agree.  If  he  or  one  of 
his  children  finds  a  sum  of  money,  the  act 
is  not  so  hidden  as  to  make  it  a  theft.  He 
will  not  have  one  penny  that  is  not  his  — 
that  cannot  be  accounted  for.  Clean 
hands,  a  clean  conscience.  There  is  a 
story  of  an  old  merchant  who,  on  his  death-  Death-bed 
bed,  divided  the  result  of  long  years  of  °m^n. 
labor,  some  few  hundreds  in  all,  amongst 
his  sons.  "  It  is  little  enough,  my  boys," 
were  almost  his  last  words,  "but  there 
isn't  a  dirty  shilling  in  the  whole  of  it." 

Every  man  with  a  generous  share  of  good 
blood  in  him  begins  life  a  democrat  and  a 
reformer.    "  I  am  no  more  ashamed  of  hav- 
ing   been    a   republican,"    says    Southey,  sayings  of 
"than   I   am    of    having    been    a   child."  /£*££*&«. 
Lord  Eldon  said  in  his  old  age,  that  "  if  he 
were   to   begin    life    again,   he   would   be 
damned  but  he  would  begin  as  agitator." 
There  was  a  time  in  my  own  life  when 
making  the  whole  world  over  seemed  to 


H4  A  Club  of  One 

me  not  a  very  difficult  or  gigantic  thing. 

For  six        For  as  much  as  six  whole  weeks  the  proc- 

fermer.™  ess  seemed  very  simple  and  easy.  All 
that  was  requisite,  it  appeared  to  me,  was 
for  the  sinless  to  get  together  and  deter- 
mine upon  a  plan  to  convert  the  sinful,  — - 
to  make  them  sinless  as  themselves.  Sim- 
plicity itself !  and  as  practicable  as  easy. 
The  good  had  only  to  agree  upon  the  man- 
ner of  making  over  the  bad,  and  the  work 
was  accomplished,  —  neatly,  and  with  dis- 
patch. An  old  Latin  author  gives  an  ac- 

A  po-iverfui  count  of  a  woman  who  believed  that  she 
"could  shake  all  the  world  with  her  fin- 
ger," and  was  afraid  to  close  her  hand,  lest 
she  should  crush  it  like  an  apple.  So  easy 
the  achievement  of  universal  reformation 
seemed  to  be  that  the  obvious  reason  for 
delaying  it  was  the  same  that  restrained 
the  powerful  woman,  —  a  merciful  hesita- 
tion of  power,  —  a  shuddering  dread  of  dis- 
turbing things.  Ah !  the  omnipotence  of 
edict,  fiat,  decree,  ukase,  act  of  parliament, 
act  of  congress,  act  of  assembly,  ordinance 
of  council !  I  did  not  then  know  of  the 

Deadstat-  countless  statutes  that  are  inoperative  or 
dead  from  indisposition  or  inability  to  en- 
force them.  What  suggestive  great  books 
could  be  made  by  collecting  them !  —  mock- 


A  Club  of  One  115 

ing  commentaries  upon  the  conceit  and  im- 
potence of  statesmanship.     My  scheme  for  His  scheme. 

delivering  the  world  from  evil  was  for  the 

reformed  of  every  place  to  assemble  them- 
selves together ;  —  those 

who  never  drink ; 

who  use  no  pernicious  drugs  ; 

who  never  gorge  themselves  at  table  ; 

who  are  never  concupiscent ; 

who  are  never  unchaste  in  thought,  lan- 
guage, or  conduct ; 

who  perfectly  control  their  appetites  and 
passions  ; 

who  never  deceive  ; 

who  never  lie,  prevaricate,  or  conceal  the  The  good. 
truth  ; 

who  do  not  love  money ; 

who  do  not  oppress  or  insult  the  poor ; 

who  do  not  envy  or  impugn  the  rich ; 

who  do  no  wrong  thing  ;  — 

to  take  into  consideration  the  miserable 

multitude, 

who  do  drink ; 

who  do  make  use  of  deleterious  drugs  ; 

who  do  overtax  their  digestive  powers ; 

who  are  now  and  then  concupiscent ;  The  bad. 

who  are  sometimes  unchaste  in  thought, 

language,  and  conduct ; 
who  do  not  control  their  desires  and  appe- 
tites ; 


u  6  A  Club  of  One 

who  deceive  ; 

Those  who    who  lie,  prevaricate,  and  conceal  the  truth  ; 
who  underestimate  and  grind  the  poor  ; 
who  love  money  ; 
who  envy  the  rich,  and  impugn  their  mo- 

tives and  conduct  ; 
who  do  many  wrong  things  ;  — 
and  at  once,  then  and  there,  devise  irref- 
ragable prohibitory  laws  for  the  absolute 
and  complete  reformation  of  their  imper- 

Thegoodto  feet   brethren.     To   prohibit  was   to   pro- 

convert  the          .  ,  .  A  .  .  ... 

bad,  andkiii  hibit.  An  exceeding  great  army  to  kill  the 
devil.  The  earth  to  be  made  a  paradise 
again.  But  the  world  got  in  and  possessed 
me  before  the  great  scheme  was  an- 
nounced. My  opportunity  was  lost,  and 
things  have  gone  on  in  the  usual  bad  way. 
Can  it  be,  at  last,  that  reforming  is  much  a 
personal  matter,  to  each  one  of  us  ?  Each 
to  "  cease  to  do  evil,  and  learn  to  do  well." 
It  would  seem  so. 

The  agony  I  suffered  all  of  last  night  ! 

I  believe  it  is  the  gout.     The  doctor  doesn't 

think   so  ;  but   doctors    differ.     "  If   your 

A  saying  of  physician,"    says    Montaigne,    "does    not 

itaigne.      .  for        QU    to     gjgg        {Q    drink 


wine,  or  to  eat  such  and  such  meats,  never 
trouble  yourself  ;  I  will  find  you  another 


A  Club  of  One  117 

that  shall  not  be  of  his  opinion."  He  calls 
it  acute  rheumatism,  and  says  I  read  too 
much !  As  if  that  had  anything  to  do 
with  gout !  Though  I  do  admit  the  close 
relation  of  mind  and  body,  and  know  how  Mind  and 
curiously  they  sometimes  affect  each  other. 
I  mean  to  make  a  study  of  their  interde- 
pendence, and  know  more  of  it.  But  how 
a  few  hours  of  study  in  my  library  could 
produce  a  fit  of  the  gout  is  incomprehen- 
sible to  me.  From  whatever  cause,  it 
is  here,  and  must  be  removed.  My  limb 
in  a  vise,  with  two  giants  twisting  it, 
would  not  be  more  horrible  than  the  ag- 
ony I  suffer.  The  Duke  of  Northumber- 
land suffered  from  gout.  He  had  tried,  he 
said,  every  remedy  for  it,  as  he  believed, 
except  one,  which,  in  the  case  of  a  friend 
of  his,  proved  efficacious,  viz.,  the  basti-  Thebasu- 

Hfido  fov 

nado.  This  had  been  applied  to  his  friend  gout. 
when  traveling  in  Turkey,  who  was  dis- 
abled by  gout  from  descending  from  his 
palanquin  to  pay  the  required  homage  to 
the  Grand  Vizier  ;  and  it  actually  cured 
him  !  I  trust  so  fearful  a  remedy  may  not 
be  necessary  in  my  case. 

I  feel,  and  watch,  and  count  my  pulsa-  counts  his 

_.  pulsations. 

tions   by   the   hour    sometimes       George 


A  Club  of  One 


Haller  did 
the  same. 


And  Har- 
vey. 


The  heart  a 

•wonderful 

thing. 


A  ccidents 
and  contin- 
gencies. 


Washington  died  watching  his  pulse,  and 
I  believe  I  shall  do  the  same.  Haller 
kept  feeling  his  pulse  to  the  last  moment, 
and  when  he  found  that  life  was  almost 
gone,  he  turned  to  his  brother  physician, 
observing,  "  My  friend,  the  artery  ceases 
to  beat,"  and  almost  instantly  expired. 
The  same  remarkable  circumstance  had 
occurred  to  the  great  Harvey ;  he  kept 
making  observations  on  the  state  of  his 
pulse  when  life  was  drawing  to  its  close  ; 
"as  if,"  as  was  said,  "that  he  who  had 
taught  us  the  beginning  of  life,  might  him- 
self, at  his  departing  from  it,  become  ac- 
quainted with  that  of  death."  Everything 
I  know  about  the  circulation  terrifies  me. 
The  heart  —  what  a  wonderful  thing  it  is  ! 
To  it  we  refer  our  joys,  our  sorrows,  and 
our  affections  ;  yet  when  grasped  with  the 
fingers,  it  gives  no  information  of  the  fact 
to  the  possessor,  unmistakably  responding 
at  the  same  time  to  the  varied  emotions  of 
the  mind.  I  think  of  these  mysteries,  in 
hours  of  sleeplessness,  till  I  am  almost  dis- 
tracted. Then  the  accidents  and  contin- 
gencies of  life  appear  to  vex  me.  A  thou- 
sand of  them,  it  seems  to  me,  appear  to  my 
mind  at  the  same  time.  Though  happen- 
ings, I  try  to  think  they  are  not  always 


A  Club  of  One  1 1 9 

misfortunes.     There  was  that  remarkable  Dinner  at 

T-»  Barrere"1  s, 

dinner,  one  hot  day,  at  Barrere  s  —  men- 
tioned by  Carlyle  in  his  History.  At  this 
dinner,  the  day  being  so  hot,  the  guests  all 
stript  their  coats,  and  left  them  in  the 
drawing  -  room  :  whereupon  Carnot  glided 
out ;  groped  in  Robespierre's  pocket ;  found 
a  list  of  forty  [to  be  butchered  by  the  guil- 
lotine], his  own  name  among  them  ;  "  and 
tarried  not  at  the  wine  -  cup  that  day !  " 
At  that  fearful  time,  human  life  was  noth- 
ing, and  human  bodies  were  treated  as 
brutes.  At  Meudon,  says  Montgaillard, 
there  was  a  tannery  of  human  skins  ;  such  A  tannery 
of  the  guillotined  as  seemed  worth  flay-  afewJ!"** 
ing  :  of  which  perfectly  good  wash-leather 
was  made ;  for  breeches  and  other  uses. 
The  skin  of  the  men,  he  remarks,  was  su- 
perior in  toughness  and  quality  to  cham- 
ois ;  that  of  the  women  was  good  for  al- 
most nothing,  being  so  soft  in  texture. 
Which  reminds  me  that  after  the  battle 
of  Munda,  on  the  Guadalquivir,  near  Cor- 
dova, where  Caesar  routed  the  Pompeians, 
Munda  (says  Froude  in  his  life  of  Caesar) 
was  at  once  blockaded,  the  inclosing  wall  A  waii  bum 

.  i  /.      ,  f       ,         of  dead 

—  savage  evidence  of  the  temper  of  the  bodies 
conquerors  —  being  built  of  dead  bodies 
pinned  together  with  lances,  and  on  the 


720 


A  Club  of  One 


top  of  it  a  fringe  of  heads  on  sword's 
points  with  the  faces  turned  towards  the 
town. 


A  man  and  a  woman  called  to  know  if  I 
was  supplied  with  the  Bible  !  There  was 
nothing  about  them  to  remind  me  of  "  the 
shepherd "  and  "  the  mother-in-law  "  in 
Pickwick.  Oh,  no  \  Though  I  did  detect 
self-right-  a  degree  of  self-righteousness  lurking  in 
their  countenances.  I  might  have  shown 
them  our  Bible  in  every  English  version, 
and  the  bible  of  the  Hindoos,  of  the  Par- 
sees,  of  the  Mahometans,  and  of  the  Mor- 
mons. Respectfully  they  retired.  I  did 
not  remark  the  least  condescension.  The 
woman  had,  I  thought,  somewhat  the 
look  of  old  grandmother  Falconer,  who 
was  a  terror  to  her  neighborhood ;  be- 
cause, being  a  law  to  herself,  she  would 
therefore  be  a  law  to  other  people.  The 
healthy  heart  that  said  to  itself,  "  How 
healthy  am  I  !  "  was  already  fallen  into 
the  fatalest  sort  of  disease.  Is  not  sen- 
timentalism  (I  am  quoting  Carlyle)  twin 
sister  to  cant,  if  not  one  and  the  same 
with  it  ?  Is  not  cant  the  materia  prima 
of  the  devil ;  from  which  all  falsehoods, 
imbecilities,  abominations  body  them- 


Sentimen- 
talism  and 
cant. 


A  Club  of  One  121 

selves  ;  from  which  no  two  things  can 
come  ?  For  cant  is  itself  properly  a  dou- 
ble-distilled lie ;  the  second  power  of  a 
lie.  The  brain  (says  Dean  Swift),  in  its 
natural  position  and  state  of  serenity,  dis- 
poseth  its  owner  to  pass  his  life  in  the 
common  forms  without  any  thought  of 
subduing  multitudes  to  his  own  power,  his 
reasons,  or  his  visions ;  and  the  more  he 
shapes  his  understanding  by  the  pattern  of 
human  learning,  the  less  he  is  inclined  to 
form  parties  after  his  particular  notions  ; 
because  that  instructs  him  in  his  private 
infirmities,  as  well  as  in  the  stubborn  ig- 
norance of  the  people.  But  when  a  man's 
fancy  gets  astride  on  his  reason;  when 
imagination  is  at  cuffs  with  the  senses ;  imagination 

0  '  at  cuffs  with 

and  common  understanding,  as  well  as  <*««**«• 
common  sense,  is  kicked  out  of  doors,  the 
first  proselyte  he  makes  is  himself;  and 
when  that  is  once  compassed,  the  difficulty 
is  not  so  great  in  bringing  over  others  ;  a 
strong  delusion  always  operating  from 
without,  as  vigorously  as  from  within.  For 
cant  and  vision  are  to  the  ear  and  the  eye 
the  same  that  tickling  is  to  the  touch. 
Those  entertainments  and  pleasures  we  The  enter- 

1  .....  .    tainments 

most  value  in  lite  are  such  as  dupe  and  andpieas- 

1.1  .   ,  .  -  ures  we  most 

play  the  wag  with  the  senses.     For,  if  we 


722 


A  Club  of  One 


Hood's  de- 
testation of 
canters. 


Less  rever- 
ential than 
a  Mohawk 

tguaw. 


take  an  examination  of  what  is  generally 
understood  by  happiness,  as  it  has  respect 
either  to  the  understanding  or  the  senses, 
we  shall  find  all  its  properties  and  adjuncts 
will  herd  under  this  short  definition  :  that 
it  is  a  perpetual  possession  of  being  well 
deceived.  Thomas  Hood,  of  all  men,  had 
the  greatest  detestation  of  canters.  An 
awful  widow,  it  is  stated,  having  long  pes- 
tered him  with  her  insolent  tracts  and 
impious  admonitions,  he  at  length  turned 
upon  her,  and  wrote  her  a  letter,  —  his 
Tract,  as  he  styled  it,  —  in  which,  perhaps, 
he  used  language  somewhat  too  violent. 
He  seems  to  have  thought  so  himself,  and 
concluded  his  performance  with  an  apol- 
ogy. "And  now,  madam,  farewell.  Your 
mode  of  recalling  yourself  to  my  memory 
reminds  me  that  your  fanatical  mother 
insulted  mine  in  the  last  days  of  her  life 
(which  was  marked  by  every  Christian 
virtue)  by  the  presentation  of  a  Tract  ad- 
dressed to  Infidels.  I  remember  also  that 
the  same  heartless  woman  intruded  her- 
self, with  less  reverence  than  a  Mohawk 
squaw  would  have  exhibited,  on  the  cham- 
ber of  death,  and  interrupted  with  her 
jargon  almost  my  very  last  interview  with 
my  dying  parent.  Such  reminiscences  war- 


A  Club  of  One  123 

rant  some  severity  ;  but  if  more  be  want- 
ing, know  that  my  poor  sister  has  been 
excited  by  a  circle  of  canters  like  yourself 
into  a  religious  frenzy,  and  is  at  this  mo- 
ment in  a  private  mad-house."  Goodness,  Goodness 

,       .  blows  no 

says  Lamb,  blows  no  trumpet,  nor  desires  trumpet. 
to  have  any  blown.  "  How  beautiful,  great, 
and  pure  goodness  is !  It  paints  heaven 
on  the  face  that  has  it;  it  wakens  the 
sleeping  souls  that  meet  it."  "The  throne 
of  the  gods  is  on  the  brow  of  a  righteous 
man."  Alas !  the  devil  lurks  in  many 
faces.  The  Arabs  tell  a  thousand  stories 
of  certain  hot  waters  in  a  grotto,  which 
they  call  Pharaoh's  Bath  ;  among  others, 
that  if  you  put  four  eggs  in  it,  you  can 
take  out  but  three,  the  devil  always  keep- 
ing one  for  himself.  Innocence,  unmiti- 
gated, is  with  the  angels  in  heaven,  and  in 
pure  little  children  on  earth.  "  You  wished 
to  see  Adam  and  Eve,  who  were  our  first 
parents ;  there  they  are  ; "  said  the  dau- 
phine  to  her  children.  Then  she  left  them 
in  great  astonishment  before  Titian's  pic- 

picture. 

ture,  and  seated  herself  by  the  bedside  of 
the  king,  who  delighted  to  watch  the  chil- 
dren. "  Which  of  the  two  is  Adam?" 
said  Francis,  nudging  his  sister  Margaret's 
elbow.  "  You  silly,"  replied  she  ;  "  to  know 


124  A  Club  of  One 

that,  they  would  have  to  be  dressed." 
Said  a  sweet  little  boy,  five  years  old,  to 
his  mother,  "  Which  am  I,  a  boy  or  a  girl  ? 
I  forget."  Pretty  incidents  like  these,  in 
contrast  with  the  ugly  philanthropy  that 
invaded  my  quiet  with  its  self-righteous- 
A  3tgnif:  ness,  recalls  the  significant  Hindoo  fable  : 
%%£&?  Vishnu  spake,  "  O  Bal !  take  thy  choice ; 
with  five  wise  men  shalt  thou  enter  hell, 
or  with  five  fools  pass  into  paradise." 
Gladly  answered  Bal,  "  Give  me,  O  Lord, 
hell  with  the  wise ;  for  that  is  heaven 
where  the  wise  dwell,  and  folly  would 
make  of  heaven  itself  a  hell ! " 

A  -visit from      Cousin  Tom,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for 

his  cousin         f  , ,  , 

Tom.  forty  years,  came  unexpectedly  to  spend 
a  few  days  with  me.  He  has,  to  say  the 
least,  interested  me  very  much.  He  is 
one  of  those  persons  they  call  professional 
invalids.  The  first  words  he  said  after  his 
arrival  were  words  of  complaint.  The 
great,  lusty  fellow  came  steaming  in,  com- 
plaining of  the  cold,  when  the  mercury 
was  only  about  twenty  degrees  above  zero. 
I  was  glad  to  see  him,  and  glad  to  have  an 

An  interest-  opportunity  of  studying  such  an  interest- 

ing charac-      ,  «^,.,.  r  i   •        t       i  i        i 

ter.  mg  character.    Tidings  of  him  had  reached 

me  from  time  to  time  through  letters  from 


A  Club  of  One  125 

my  aunt  Jane,  —  who  always  mentioned 
him  kindly,  but  with  slight  expression  of 
inextinguishable  disgust  at  some  of  his 
ways.  He  troubles  everybody  about  him 
with  his  perpetual  complaints,  but  never  Always  com- 

u-       i-r  i-  -1-1  TT     tlainins- 

in  his  life  was  he  seriously  sick.  He 
weighs  two  hundred  pounds,  and  is  as 
round-limbed  and  muscular  as  he  was  at 
twenty.  His  teeth  are  all  sound,  and 
shine  like  ivory.  "  Sovereignty  would 
have  pawned  her  jewels  for  them."  A 
marvel  of  health,  he  is  ever  repeating  the 
litany  of  his  little  miseries.  To  see  him 
eat,  and  then  to  hear  him  complain  of  his 
digestion  !  He  clears  voraciously  his 
plate,  piled  up  heaping  with  the  richest 
viands,  and  then  laments  that  he  is  not  an  Laments 

,  ...  .    .  .  ,    that  he  is  not 

anaconda  !     It  makes  a  sick  man  ashamed  an  ana- 

COHtltt* 

to  see  a  well  man  such  a  fool.  Nothing 
in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  him  but 
crop-sickness  —  the  disgusting  result  of 
habitual  over-feeding.  His  cough,  that  he 
has  been  dying  of  for  twenty  years,  is  of 
the  stomach,  sheerly  and  unmistakably. 
He  feeds  excessively,  and  suffers  some- 
what, of  course  —  why  not  ?  Is  the  man's  His  head  of 
head  of  no  use  to  him  ?  Else,  why  persist  *££" 
in  his  folly  ?  Is  there,  to  think  of  it,  any- 
thing so  common  that  is  of  so  little  use  as 


726  A  Club  of  One 

heads  ?     The  eggs  and  the  sausages  that 

the  man  ate  for  breakfast  yesterday,  and 

the  cups  of  strong  coffee  that  he  drank  to 

hasten   them   down  !     And  then  to   hear 

swears  at '  him  swear  at  his  digestion,  and  envy  the 

tion'anden-  healthy !     I  had  to  endure  it  all,  though 

vies  the  .. 

healthy.  suffering  at  the  time  most  acutely  from  an 
abscess,  or  rupture,  or  something,  that  is 
threatening  my  life.  While  he  was  moan- 
ing and  groaning  over  his  slight  uneasi- 
nesses —  the  result  of  his  enormous  indul- 
gence and  intemperance  —  I  could  n't  help 
wishing  that  he  could  be  really  sick  awhile, 
to  know  what  real  sickness  is,  and  be  cured 
of  his  pretenses.  Later  in  the  day  his 

scolds  his  abused  nerves  came  in  for  a  share  of  scold- 
ing, when  he  had  devoured  and  burned  to- 
bacco enough  to  poison  a  peccary.  But 
why  lecture  him  about  his  disgusting  ap- 
petites ?  The  stomach  has  no  ears.  Self- 
command  does  n't  come  of  preaching  —  it 
is  a  result  of  self-training,  self-denial,  and 

Madame  de  endurance.  Madame  de  Genlis  was  born 
with  numberless  little  antipathies ;  she 
had  a  horror  of  all  insects,  particularly  of 
spiders  and  frogs.  She  was  also  afraid  of 
mice,  and  her  father  made  her  feed  and 
bring  up  one.  He  obliged  her  to  catch 
spiders  with  her  fingers,  and  to  hold  toads 


A  Club  of  One  127 

in  her  hands.  At  such  times,  though  she 
felt  that  the  blood  had  forsaken  her  veins, 
she  was  forced  to  obey.  And  so  a  habit  The  habit  of 

self-com- 

of  self-command  was  established  in  the  »*«««*• 
woman  who  afterward  became  so  com- 
manding in  the  French  capital  and  at  the 
court  of  France.  Lamenting  and  wishing 
in  such  a  case  would  have  done  no  good, 
while  discipline  accomplished  so  much. 
Says  Saadi  :  — 

"  Had  the  cat  wings,  no  sparrow  could  live  in  the  air  ;       A  verse 
Had  each  his  wish,  what  more  would  Allah  have  to  from  Saadl 
spare  ?  " 

If  some  such  a  result  attended  my  cousin's 
indulgence  as  the  story  illustrates,  there 
would  be  some  compensation  in  it.  It  is 
of  a  workman  pulling  his  wife  out  of  a 
ditch,  with  the  remark,  "  Why,  Nanny, 
you  are  drunk."  "And  what  do  that  ar- 
gify,  if  I  am  happy  ?  "  Charles  Mathews,  one  of 

.  f  .   .  .  .  ,    Charles 

in  one  ot  his  amusing  entertainments,  used 


to  tell  a  story  of  a  certain  innkeeper,  who  * 
made  it  a  rule  of  his  house,  to  allow  a 
candle  to  a  guest  only  on  condition  of  his 
ordering  a  pint  of  wine.  Whereupon  the 
guest  contends,  on  the  reciprocity  system, 
for  a  light  for  every  half-bottle,  and  finally 
drinks  himself  into  a  general  illumination. 
But  the  belly-gods  get  no  pleasure  from 


128  A  Club  of  One 

their  indulgence  except  while  they  are  eat- 
ing. They  are  hardly  away  from  the  ta- 
ble, when  they  begin  to  complain  of  their 
aches.  It  is  a  wonder  that  they  don't  get 

Crabb  Rob-  provoked  at  their  own  growling.  Crabb 
Robinson  refers  to  the  continued  barking 
of  a  dog,  irritated  by  the  echo  of  his  own 
voice,  which  was  made  by  Wordsworth  the 
subject  of  a  sonnet.  In  human  life  this  is 
constantly  occurring.  It  is  said  that  a  dog 
has  been  known  to  contract  an  illness  by 
the  continued  labor  of  barking  at  his  own 
echo.  My  cousin  Tom  is  invariably  seized 
with  a  fit  °f  coughing  whenever  a  cough 
is  recollected,  referred  to,  or  heard.  A  re- 
membrance of  his  own  pretended  ailment 
is  sure  to  be  followed  by  a  violent,  sono- 
rous expiration.  It  is  a  wonder  that  his 
whole  breathing  and  swallowing  apparatus 
was  not  long  ago  torn  to  pieces  by  his  per- 
sistent straining  ;  and  not  a  bit  surprising 
that  something  like  an  asthma  should  have 
crept  into  his  chest  —  the  direct  result, 
not  so  much  of  his  stomach  cough,  as  the 
habit  of  indulging  and  cultivating  it.  At- 
tending to  his  cough  has  been  a  great  part 
of  his  business  for  twenty  years  —  a  trans- 

idleness.  parent  excuse  for  his  chronic  idleness.  If 
he  had  had  to  earn  each  one  of  his  dollars 


excuseor 


A  Club  of  One  129 

by  ten  hours  in  the  sun,  his  cough,  as  he 

calls  it,  would  never  have  existed.     Occu-  occupation 

.  •  11*  i        the  great 

pation  is  the  great  blessing  ;  we  must  be  blessing 
engaged  at  something  or  suffer.  Diana 
was  chaste  because  she  was  never  idle,  but 
always  busy  about  her  hunting.  But  for 
every  day's  diligence  in  my  library  I  do 
believe  I  should  not  myself  be  able  to  sur- 
vive. Nothing  but  my  books  could  enable 
me  to  endure  my  distresses.  There  is  a 
story  of  a  gentleman  who  was  under  close 
confinement  in  the  Bastile  seven  years  ;  ^  ^.y  */ 

*  '   the  Bastile. 

during  which  time  he  amused  himself  with 
scattering  a  few  small  pins  about  his 
chamber,  gathering  them  up  again,  and 
placing  them  in  different  figures  on  the 
arm  of  a  great  chair.  He  often  told  his 
friends  afterwards  that  unless  he  had 
found  out  this  piece  of  employment,  he 
verily  believed  he  should  have  lost  his 
senses.  Sir  Astley  Cooper,  when  in  re- 


tirement,  satiated  with  wealth  and  honors, 
is  described  as  looking  over  the  trees  of 
his  park  with  a  conviction  that  some  day 
he  should  hang  himself  from  one  of  them. 
He  had  spent  his  life  in  routine  work,  and 
it  was  too  late  to  educate  his  mind  to  any- 
thing else.  Ennui,  as  Madame  Roland  de- 
fines it,  is  the  disease  of  hearts  without 


idleness  the 

cause  of 

ennui. 


A  Club  of  One 

feeling,  and  of  minds  without  resources. 
A  writer  in  the  London  Spectator  calls  it 
a  mental  low  fever.  It  has  also  been  de- 
fined to  be  an  afflicting  sensation  for  want 
of  a  sensation.  Whatever  it  is,  idleness  is 
the  prime  cause  of  it.  Montaigne  relates 
that  when  once  walking  in  the  fields  he 
was  accosted  by  a  beggar  of  Herculean 
frame,  who  solicited  alms.  "  Are  you  not 
ashamed  to  beg  ?  "  said  the  philosopher, 
with  a  frown,  —  "  you  who  are  so  palpably 
able  to  work  ?  "  "  Oh,  sir,"  was  the  sturdy 
knave's  drawling  rejoinder,  "if  you  only 
knew  how  lazy  I  am  !  "  Jeremy  Taylor 
said  to  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance,  who  had 
been  very  neglectful  of  the  education  of 
^er  son>  "  Madam,  if  you  do  not  choose  to 
fill  your  boy's  head  with  something,  be- 
lieve me,  the  devil  will."  The  Turks  have 
a  proverb  that  the  devil  tempts  all  other 
men,  but  that  idle  men  tempt  the  devil. 
In  general,  says  Montesquieu,  we  place 
idleness  among  the  beatitudes  of  heaven  ; 
it  should  rather  be  put  among  the  tor- 
ments of  hell. 


w 


For  one,  I  believe  and  affirm  that  the 
idle,  self-indulgent,  professional  invalid 
ought  to  be  put  out  of  the  way.  He  de< 


A  Club  of  One  131 

presses  and  irritates  and  aggravates  and 
infuriates  everybody  who  is  much  with 
him  or  about  him.  The  atmosphere  he 
carries  with  him  is  blighting.  The  infi- 
nite ill  effects  of  permitting  him  to  live  is  Effects  of 

permitting 

illustrated  in  the  results  of  the  mistaken  him  to  u™ 

ill-ustrated. 

humanity  of  the  philosopher  in  his  treat- 
ment of  the  flea,  described  so  felicitously 
by  a  veracious  Frenchman.  Causes  and 
effects  are  set  down  numerically.  I.  The 
former,  having  been  bitten  by  the  latter, 
seized  and  was  about  to  dispatch  his  foe, 
when  he  reflected  that  the  little  insect  had 
only  acted  from  instinct,  and  was  not  to 
be  blamed.  Accordingly,  he  deposited  the 
flea  on  the  back  of  a  passing  dog.  II.  This 
dog  was  the  poodle  of  a  lady,  and  she  was  Thepoodk 

J  of  a  lady. 

very  fond  of  the  pretty  animal.  On  his 
return  to  the  house,  his  mistress  took  him 
upon  her  lap  to  caress  him,  and  the  flea 
embraced  the  opportunity  to  change  his 
habitat.  III.  The  flea  having  in  the  course 
of  the  night  engaged  in  active  business 
operations,  awakened  the  lady.  Her  hus- 
band was  sleeping  peacefully  beside  her, 
and  in  the  silence  of  the  chamber  she 
heard  him  in  his  dreams  whisper,  with  an  jeaimisy 
access  of  ineffable  tenderness,  a  name !  °" 
The  name  was  that  of  her  most  intimate 


rhe  big 

damning 

discovery, 


A  Club  of  One 

friend.  IV.  As  soon  as  it  was  day  the 
outraged  wife  hurried  to  the  house  of  her 
rival,  and  told  the  rival's  husband  of  the 
big  damning  discovery  she  had  made.  He, 

.  r     i        •     •  11      i 

being  a  man  oi  decision,  at  once  called  out 
the  destroyer  of  his  household's  peace,  and 
ran  him  through.  V.  The  widow,  when 
her  husband  was  taken  home  to  her  on  a 
shutter,  was  so  terribly  smitten  with  re- 
morse that  she  precipitated  herself  from 
the  fourth  story  window.  VI.  The  other 
lady  convinced  her  husband  that  he  had 
wronged  her  by  entertaining  any  suspicion 
Reconciled,  as  to  her  fidelity,  and,  becoming  reconciled 
with  him,  seized  an  early  opportunity  of 
poisoning  him.  VII.  Inasmuch  as  the  ju- 
rors of  that  country  had  never  heard  of  "  ex- 
tenuating circumstances,"  and  the  Chief 
Magistrate,  thinking  that  he  could  not  put 
a  murderer  to  better  uses  than  by  guillo- 
tining him,  the  guilty  woman  was  duly  be- 
headed,  and  the  sole  survivors  of  the  trag- 
edy  were  the  philosopher  and  the  flea.  It 

* 

would  not  do  to  provide  hospitals  for  the 
professional  invalids.  The  effect  of  herd- 
ing them  would  be  much  the  same  as  that 
resulting  from  the  habit  of  old  Jews  from 
all  parts  of  the  world,  who  go  to  lay  their 
bones  upon  the  sacred  soil  (described  so 


vivors  the 

philosopher 

andtheflea. 


A  Club  of  One 

vividly  by  Kinglake  in  his  matchless  little 

book  of  travel).     "As  these  people,"  he  A  suggestive 

i       '       i  r         passage 

says.  "  never  return  to  their  homes,  it  f  ol-  from  King- 

lake* 

lows  that  any  domestic  vermin  which  they 
may  bring  with  them  are  likely  to  become 
permanently  resident,  so  that  the  popula- 
tion is  continually  increasing.  No  recent 
census  had  been  taken  when  I  was  at  Tibe- 
rias, but  I  know  that  the  congregation  of 
fleas  which  attended  at  my  church  alone 
[what  could  be  more  remindful  of  the 
numberless  irritating  effects  of  voluntary 
invalidism  ?]  must  have  been  something 
enormous.  It  was  a  carnal,  self-seeking  A  carnal, 
congregation,  wholly  inattentive  to  the  Sc<fnSereekga? 
service  which  was  going  on,  and  devoted 
to  the  one  object  of  having  my  blood. 
The  fleas  of  all  nations  were  there.  The 
smug,  steady,  importunate  flea  from  Holy- 
well  street  —  the  pert,  jumping,  'puce* 
from  hungry  France  —  the  wary,  watch- 
ful '  pulce  '  with  his  poisoned  stiletto  — 
the  vengeful  '  pulga '  of  Castile  with  his 
ugly  knife  —  the  German  '  floh  '  with  his 
knife  and  fork  —  insatiate  —  not  rising 
from  table  —  whole  swarms  from  all  the  swarms 
Russias,  and  Asiatic  hordes  unnumbered  m 
— all  these  were  there,  and  all  rejoiced  in 
one  great  international  feast.  After  pass- 


^  Club  of  One 

ing  a  night  like  this  [bad  enough,  but  not 
to  be  compared  with  three  whole  days  with 
Tom],  you  are  glad  to  pick  up  the  wretched 

ma™  oj  remains  of  your  body  long,  long  before 
morning  dawns.  Your  skin  is  scorched  — 
your  temples  throb ;  your  lips  feel  with- 
ered and  dried  ;  your  burning  eyeballs  are 
screwed  inwards  against  the  brain.  You 
have  no  hope  but  only  in  the  saddle,  and 
in  the  freshness  of  the  morning  air."  Un- 

Professionai  happily,  these  miserable  professional  inva- 

invalids  #        ,  •  i         i  T  •• 

privileged     lids  that  I  am  writing  about  and  illustra- 

class, 

ting  constitute  a  privileged  class  of  society. 
Charles  Lamb  called  them  "kings."  Such 
persons,  whether  their  imagined  diseases 
be  of  the  mind  or  body,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  dissecting  Hawthorne,  are  made 
acutely  conscious  of  a  self,  by  the  torture 
in  which  it  dwells.  Self,  therefore,  grows 
to  be  so  prominent  an  object  with  them, 
that  they  cannot  but  present  it  to  the  face 
of  every  carnal  passer-by.  This  cousin  of 
Totally  mine  is  so  wrapped  up  in  himself  —  is 
such  a  sublime  egotist  —  that  when  I  men- 
tion a  real  distress  of  my  own  —  that 
threatens  life  itself  with  its  awful  gravity 
—  he  gives  but  a  lazy,  half -attention  — 
amounting  to  no  more,  at  best,  than  what 
Coleridge  calls  a  mental  yawn.  To  have 


A  Club  of  One  135 

one's  ills  aggravated  in  that  manner  by  a 
mere  pretender  in  misery  is  enough  to 
awaken  all  the  Satanic  in  human  nature. 
I  wish  my  cousin  would  go  away.  Even  wishes  his 

•    i  i         T.ci'1  •    i     •  •»  JT        i«  /i         cousin  would 

sick  people,  I  think,  with  Montaigne  (who  goaway. 
was  much  of  an  invalid  himself,  and  talked 
quite  enough  of  his  maladies),  should  pub- 
lish and  communicate  their  joy,  as  much 
as  they  can,  and  conceal  and  smother  their 
grief.  He  that  makes  himself  pitied  with- 
out reason  is  a  man  not  to  be  pitied  when 
there  shall  be  real  cause  ;  to  be  always 
complaining  is  the  way  never  to  get  sym- 
pathy ;  by  making  himself  out  always  so 
miserable,  he  is  never  commiserated  by  Never  com, 
any.  He  that  makes  himself  dead  when 
living  is  subject  to  be  held  as  though 
alive  when  he  is  dying.  "  We  are  apt," 
says  Hawthorne  again,  "  to  make  sickly 
people  more  morbid,  and  unfortunate  peo- 
ple more  miserable,  by  endeavoring  to 
adapt  our  deportment  to  their  especial  and 
individual  needs.  They  eagerly  accept 
our  well-meant  efforts  ;  but  it  is  like  re- 
turning their  own  sick  breath  ba'ck  upon 
themselves,  to  be  breathed  over  and  over 
again,  intensifying  the  inward  mischief  at 
every  repetition.  The  sympathy  that 
would  really  do  them  good  is  of  a  kind 


!36 


A  Club  of  One 


Discourag- 
ing to  in- 
•validistn. 


A  habit  of 
•wolves. 


that  recognizes  their  sound  and  healthy 
parts,  and  ignores  the  part  affected  by  dis- 
ease, which  will  thrive  under  the  eye  of  a 
too  close  observer  like  a  poisonous  weed 
in  the  sunshine."  Herodotus  speaks  of  a 
tribe  who  treated  their  sick  in  a  way  pe- 
culiarly discouraging  to  invalidism.  When 
any  one  fell  sick,  his  chief  friends  told 
him  that  the  illness  would  spoil  his  flesh  ; 
whereupon  he  would  protest  that  he  was 
not  unwell ;  but  they,  not  agreeing  with 
him,  would  kill  and  eat  him.  Naturalists 
tell  us  that  if  one  of  a  flock  of  wolves 
wound  himself,  or  so  much  as  limp,  the 
rest  eat  him  up  incontinently.  Oh !  Mercy 
on  me  !  Three  days  more  of  my  cousin 
Tom  would  kill  me.  Will  he  never  go 
away  ? 


In  rearranging  my  books  this  morning  I 
encountered  a  favorite  volume  that  I  had 
missed  the  sight  of  for  a  year  or  two.  I 
was  glad  to  see  it  —  a  valuable  old  friend. 
Foster's  ES-  It  is  a  little,  rude  copy  in  boards  of  Foster's 
Essays  —  Andover,  1826.  This  is  one  of 
those  little  books  that  have  had  incalculable 
influence.  It  is  filled  with  vigorous,  cast- 
iron  thought,  from  the  first  word  to  the  last. 
The  author  often  spent  hours  on  a  single 


says, 


A  Club  of  One  137 

sentence.  I  know  of  nothing  in  literature 
that  is  a  better  stimulant  for  the  mind,  or 
tonic  for  the  character,  than  the  essay  on  x 
Decision.  And,  strange  to  say,  these  es- 
says were  written  as  love  epistles  to  the  written  a* 
lady  who  afterward  became  his  wife.  She 
had  intimated  to  him  that  she  could  never 
consent  to  be  the  wife  of  a  man  who  could 
not  distinguish  himself  in  the  literature  of 
his  country ;  and  the  famous  essays  were 
written  to  her  in  the  form  of  letters,  to 
prove  to  her  that  he  possessed  the  requisite 
ability.  Miss  Maria  Snooke,  I  think,  was  Miss  Maria 

t  r  •  •  Snooke. 

the  name  of  the  notably  exacting  maiden. 
She  must  have  been  a  remarkable  woman. 
He  describes  her  in  his  Diary  (at  the  time 
he  was  courting  her)  as  "a  marble  statue, 
surrounded  by  iron  palisades."  Long  ago, 
when  I  was  a  bit  of  a  boy,  I  saw  it  stated 
that  a  distinguished  American  orator  and 
statesman,  then  living,  had  said  that  he 
owed  incomparably  more  to  Foster's  Es- 
says than  to  any  other  one  book  in  litera- 
ture. Remembering  the  statement,  I  tried 
again  and  again  to  buy  the  book  ;  but  the  Efforts  to 
bookseller  knew  nothing  about  it.  At  last,  iZk. 
I  found  it  in  a  gentleman's  library,  offered 
for  sale  in  pecuniary  extremity ;  he  being 
one  of  those  rare  individuals  who  could  be 


138  A  Club  of  One 

economical  in  everything  but  in  books.  It 
was  put  up  by  the  auctioneer  only  a  minute 
after  I  had  dropped  in,  and  I  was  so  de- 
lighted at  the  prospect  of  being  the  owner 
of  the  long-sought  volume,  that  I  bid  three 
quarters  of  a  dollar  for  it  at  once,  and  it  was 
Knocked  as  quickly  knocked  down  to  me,  —  the  gap- 

downtohim,  ,  ,  /-  ,          ,  .  . 

ing  bystanders,  of  course,  laughing  heart- 
ily at  me  for  giving  so  much  for  a  little 
half -worn  book  that  I  might  as  well  have 
had  for  a  shilling.  I  went  home  elated 
with  my  purchase,  and  spent  half  the  night 
over  it.  It  was  very  evident  that  its  former 
owner  was  an  intelligent  and  close  reader, 
for  some  very  significant  marks  and  reflec- 
tions covered  the  margins  of  some  of  the 
pages.  Wherever  I  went,  I  always  carried 

The  treas-  the  treasure  with  me  ;  and  later,  it  was  one 
of  the  few  books  I  always  kept  in  my  down- 
town office.  It  was  one  of  the  most  com- 
fortable offices  in  the  block,  and  two  or  three 
of  the  dozen  women  employed  by  the  jani- 
tor, by  permission,  enjoyed  its  comforts  on 
Sundays  and  at  odd  hours  when  I  was  ab- 
sent. One  of  them  was  a  remarkable  per- 
son, and  I  have  often  thought  of  her  since. 

Margaret.  Margaret,  I  remember,  was  the  girl's  name. 
She  must  have  had  the  blood  of  kings  in 
her  veins.  Of  the  books  on  the  shelf,  she 


ure. 


A  Club  of  One  139 

liked  Foster's  Essays  best,  she  said  ;  of 
which  both  the  appearance  of  the  volume 
and  her  acquaintance  with  it  gave  indubita- 
ble evidence.  She  had  a  very  strong  mind 
and  magnificent  passions.  There  was  maj- 
esty in  her  mien,  though  a  poor  working  wo- 
man. Regal  she  was,  in  countenance,  sug- 
gesting  Zenobia  or  Cleopatra.  She  seemed 
to  me  to  be  "clad  in  the  usual  weeds  of 
high  habitual  state,"  so  commanding  and 
noble  was  her  bearing.  Her  hair  was  so 
abundant  as  to  appear  a  burden  to  her. 
But  her  remarkable  eye  is  most  distinct  in 
my  memory.  It  was  a  true  Irish  eye,  — 
"gray,  with  long,  dark  lashes,  and  with  lids 
deep  set  and  well  chiseled,  —  an  eye  speak- 
ing mingled  innocence,  mirth,  and  tender- 
ness quite  unmatched  by  any  human  orb." 
Once  I  saw  it  when  it  seemed  to  hover  and 
melt  over  the  dear  spot  and  dear  ones  in 
her  far-away,  never-forgotten  home,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  sea.  Moore's  pen  would 
have  run  wild  describing  her.  But  the 
black  drop  was  somehow  mingled  in  her  rhe  black 
rich  nature.  "The  beautiful  river!  The  %££.*" 
beautiful  river !  "  she  exclaimed,  looking 
down  out  of  the  fourth  story  window,  with 
that  pensive  far-away  expression  so  pecu- 
liar to  her;  and  a  moment  after  she  was 


140  A  Club  of  One 

picked  up  in  the  court,  a  pitiful,  quivering 
mass  of  dead  humanity.  At  the  inquest  I 
had  an  opportunity  of  paying  tribute  to  her 
strong  understanding  and  lofty  moral  na- 
ture. I  set  this  down  at  a  time  when  every 
faculty  of  my  mind  seems  floating  in  rem- 
iniscence. 

It  takes  two  at  least,  it  seems,  to  make 
The  perfect  a.  perfect  ballad.     "  What  can  be  prettier," 

ballad  r       •  •    • 

says  Cowper,  in  one  of  his  exquisite  letters, 
"  than  Gay's  ballad,  or  rather  Swift's,  Ar- 
buthnot's,  Pope's,  and  Gay's,  in  the  What 
do  you  call  it  ?  — '  'T  was  when  the  seas 
were  roaring '  ?  I  have  been  well  informed 
that  that  most  celebrated  association  of 
clever  fellows  all  contributed  to  it."  And 
I  suspect  Gay  had  like  help  in  the  composi- 
tion of  Black  Eyed  Susan  —  another  of  his 
ballads  not  less  remarkable  for  its  perfec- 
johnAnder-  tion.  John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John,  all  the 
sjoh™yj°'  world  has  been  in  the  habit  of  regarding 
as  another  perfect  ballad,  till  a  verse  lately 
added  to  it  by  a  gentleman  in  northern  Ohio 
proved  it  to  have  been,  as  Burns  left  it,  far 
from  being  perfect.  The  additional  verse 
was  sent  to  me  in  manuscript,  as  taken 
from  the  lips  of  the  author,  and  should 
make  his  name  famous  if  he  never  wrote 


A  CM  of  One  141 

another  line.  I  have  copied  it  into  the 
margin  of  my  Burns,  alongside  the  poem, 
and  also  copy  it  here,  to  preserve  it  further, 
in  case  the  book  should  be  spirited  away. 

"  John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John,  An  addi- 

Wewinna  mind  that  sleep; 
The  grave  sae  cauld  and  still,  John, 

The  spirit  canna  keep  : 
But  we  will  wake  in  Heaven,  John, 

Where  young  again  we  '11  grow, 
And  ever  live,  in  blessed  luve, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo." 

How  Burns  and  the  author  of  this  stanza 
will  strike  hands  on  the  other  shore!  I 
should  like  to  witness  the  meeting  of  the 
two  bards.  Ah!  the  matchless  poet  of 
humanity  !  "  Since  Adam,"  said  Margaret 
Fuller,  "there  has  been  none  that  ap- 
proached nearer  fitness  to  stand  up  before 
God  and  angels  in  the  naked  majesty  of 
manhood  than  Robert  Burns."  But  she  Burns. 
speaks  of  the  "serpent  in  his  field  also." 
Though  two  nieces  of  Burns,  living  in  the 
suburbs  of  Ayr,  believed,  when  talked  to 
by  an  American  lady  about  Burns'  intem- 
perate habits,  that  they  had  been  greatly 
exaggerated.  Their  mother  was  a  woman 
twenty-five  years  old  and  the  mother  of 
three  children  when  he  died,  and  she  had 
never  once  seen  him  the  "  waur  for  liquor." 


142  A  Club  of  One 

"  There  were  very  many  idle  people  i'  the 
warld,  an'  a  great  deal  o'  talk,  "  they  said. 

Byron's  "  What,"  asks  Byron,  in  his  Journal, 
"  would  Burns  have  been,  if  a  patrician  ? 
We  should  have  had  more  polish  —  less 
force  —  just  as  much  verse,  but  no  immor- 
tality —  a  divorce,  and  a  duel  or  two,  the 
which  had  he  survived,  as  his  potations 
must  have  been  less  spirituous,  he  might 

A  reference  have  lived  as  long  as  Sheridan,  and  out- 
lived as  much  as  poor  Brinsley."  Of  Scot- 
land, it  has  been  significantly  remarked, 
the  creed  is  the  Westminster  Confession, 
but  the  national  poet  is  Burns. 

It  is  Saint  Valentine's  Day,  and  there  is 
A  dance  at    &  dance  at  the  house  opposite.     I  can  just 

the  house  op-  n        J. 

see,  through  the  lace  curtains,  the  "  floating 


radiances"  swimming  and  gliding  about. 
How  it  all  carries  me  back  !  Ah  !  at  twenty, 
with  a  sweetheart  of  sixteen  !  Happy  then, 
miserable  now.  At  the  recollection,  my 
heart  "  flows  like  a  sea."  It  is  the  touch 
of  a  maiden's  hand,  according  to  the  Orien- 
tal legend,  that  causes  the  trees  to  bloom. 
"  For  the  first  time,"  says  Jean  Paul,  "  I 
held  a  beloved  being  upon  my  heart  and 
The  one  lips.  I  have  nothing  further  to  say,  but  that 
it  was  the  one  pearl  of  a  minute,  that  was 


A  Club  of  One  143 

never  repeated  ;  a  whole  longing  past  and  a 
dreaming  future  were  united  in  a  moment, 
and  in  the  darkness  behind  my  closed  eyes 
the  fire-works  of  a  whole  life  were  evolved 
in  a  glance.  Ah,  I  have  never  forgotten 
it  —  the  ineffaceable  moment !  "  Madame  Madame 

.  Roland. 

Roland,  at  sixteen,  is  described  as  most 
fascinating  in  mind  and  person.  Many  suit- 
ors began  to  appear,  one  after  another,  but 
she  manifested  no  interest  in  any  of  them. 
The  customs  of  society  in  France  were 
such  at  that  time,  that  it  was  difficult  for 
any  one  who  sought  the  hand  of  the  young 
lady  to  obtain  an  introduction  to  her.  Con- 
sequently the  expedient  was  usually  adopt- 
ed of  writing  first  to  her  parents.  These 
letters  were  always  immediately  shown  to 
her.  She  judged  of  the  character  of  the 
writer  by  the  character  of  the  epistles.  Her 
father,  knowing  her  intellectual  superiority, 
looked  to  her  as  his  secretary  to  reply  to  all  Her  fathers 

secretary  in 

these  letters.  She  consequently  wrote  the  delicate  mat- 
answers,  which  her  father  carefully  copied 
and  sent  in  his  own  name.  She  was  often 
amused  with  the  gravity  with  which  she, 
as  the  father  of  herself,  with  parental  priir 
dence,  discussed  her  own  interests.  In 
subsequent  years  she  wrote  to  kings  and 
to  cabinets  in  the  name  of  her  husband ; 


144  ^  Club  °f 

and  the  sentiments  which  flowed  from  her 

pen,  adopted  by  the  ministry  of  France  as 

Guided  the    their  own,  guided  the  councils  of  nations. 

councils  of      _^  -  f      .  ,     . 

nations.  Beauty  is  in  the  eye  of  the  gazer,  and  is 
beauty  still,  however  you  disguise  it.  The 
Due  de  Richelieu  had  a  portrait  gallery  of 
contemporary  beauties,  each  attired  in  the 
costume  of  a  nun.  The  magic  of  the  ten- 

Lamar-       der  passion  !    Raphael,  in  Lamartine's  pas- 

tinSs  Pas- 

sionateiove-  sionate  love-story,  regarded  his  Julie  as  one 
of  those  delusions  of  fancy,  one  of  those 
women  above  mortal  height,  like  Tasso's 
Eleonora,  Dante's  Beatrice,  Petrarch's  Lau- 
ra, or  Vittoria  Colonna,  the  lover,  the  poet, 
and  the  heroine  at  once  ;  forms  that  flit 
across  the  earth,  scarcely  touching  it,  and 
without  tarrying,  only  to  fascinate  the  eyes 
of  some  men,  the  privileged  few  of  love,  to 
lead  on  their  souls  to  immortal  aspirations, 
and  to  be  the  sursum  corda  of  superior  im- 
aginations.  But  the  disillusion,  after  being 
wrought  up  by  the  dazzling  contemplation  ! 
An  old  book  of  English  legal  reminiscences 
tells  us  that  on  the  Norfolk  circuit  the  fa- 
mous Jack  Lee  was  retained  for  the  plain- 
tiff in  an  action  for  breach  of  promise  of 
marriage  :  when  the  brief  was  brought  him, 
he  asked  whether  the  lady  for  whose  injury 
he  was  to  seek  redress  was  good-looking. 


A  Club  of  One  145 

"  Very  handsome,  indeed,  sir,"  was  the  as- 
surance of  Helen's  attorney.  "Then,  sir," 
replied  Lee,  "  I  beg  you  to  request  her  to  be 
in  court,  and  in  a  place  where  she  can  be  ** 
seen."  The  attorney  promised  compliance  ; 
and  the  lady,  in  accordance  with  Lee's 
wishes,  took  her  seat  in  a  conspicuous  place. 
Lee,  in  addressing  the  jury,  did  not  fail  to  Eloquence. 
insist  with  great  warmth  on  the  "  abomi- 
nable cruelty"  which  had  been  practiced 
towards  "  the  lovely  and  confiding  female  " 
before  them,  and  did  not  sit  down  until 
he  had  succeeded  in  working  up  their  feel- 
ings to  the  desired  point.  The  counsel  on 
the  other  side,  however,  speedily  broke  the 
spell  with  which  Lee  had  enchanted  the 
jury,  by  observing  that  his  learned  friend 
in  describing  the  graces  and  beauty  of  the 
plaintiff  had  not  mentioned  the  fact  —  that 
the  lady  had  a  wooden  leg  !  The  court  was  The  court 
convulsed  with  laughter,  while  Lee,  who  " 
was  ignorant  of  this  circumstance,  looked 
aghast  ;  and  the  jury,  ashamed  of  the  influ- 
ence that  mere  eloquence  had  had  upon 
them,  returned  a  verdict  for  the  defendant. 
"  Ah,  poor  Pen  !  "  exclaims  Thackeray,  when 
Pen  was  no  longer  in  love  with  the  Foth- 
eringay,  "  the  delusion  is  better  than  the 
truth  sometimes,  and  fine  dreams  to  dismal 


" 


146 


A  Club  of  One 


philosophy. 


Old  sweet- 
hearts. 


Should  al- 
ways think 
well  of  them 


waking."  Though,  happen  what  may,  we 
will  recur  to  the  good  times  agone,  and  con- 
sole ourselves  in  the  philosophic  manner  of 
the  same  great  master  :  "  I  am,"  he  says, 
"  tranquil :  I  am  quiet :  I  have  passed  the 
hot  stage  :  and  I  do  not  know  a  pleasanter 
and  calmer  feeling  of  mind  than  that  of  a 
respectable  person  of  the  middle  age,  who 
can  still  be  heartily  and  generously  fond  of 
all  the  women  about  whom  he  was  in  a 
passion  and  a  fever  in  early  life.  If  you 
cease  liking  a  woman  when  you  cease  lov- 
ing her,  depend  on  it,  that  one  of  you  is  a 
bad  one.  You  are  parted,  never  mind  with 
what  pangs  on  either  side,  or  by  what  cir- 
cumstances of  fate,  choice,  or  necessity,  — 
you  have  no  money  or  she  has  too  much, 
or  she  likes  somebody  else  better,  and  so 
forth ;  but  an  honest  Fogy  should  always, 
unless  reason  be  given  to  the  contrary, 
think  well  of  the  woman  whom  he  has  once 
thought  well  of,  and  remember  her  with 
kindness  and  tenderness,  as  a  man  re- 
members a  place  where  he  has  been  very 
happy."  But  the  dance  at  the  house  oppo- 
site. The  movement  seems  to  me  too  rapid. 
There  is  not  enough  of  repose,  so  to  speak, 
in  the  modern  dancing.  I  should  like  once 
more  to  see-  a  minuet,  in  the  old-time  style. 


A  Club  of  One  147 

The  minuet  was  the  dance  of  kings,  the 
poetry  of  the  courtly  salon.  George  Wash- 
ington was  at  home  in  the  stately  move- 
ment, and  he  has  been  pronounced  "the 
most  decorous  and  respectable  person  that 
ever  went  ceremoniously  through  the  reali- 
ties of  life."  Hawthorne  imagined  he  was 
born  with  his  clothes  on,  and  his  hair  pow- 
dered, and  made  a  stately  bow  on  his  first 
appearance  in  the  world.  I  should  like  to 
set  down  the  circumstance  of  Gouverneur 
Morris's  rebuff,  upon  approaching  familiarly 
the  great  American  idol  —  related  so  inter- 
estingly  by  an  early  annalist ;  but  my  hand  lc 
is  weary  with  too  much  writing.  The  doc- 
tor will  scold.  I  can  only  refer  to  the  con- 
trast of  the  ancient,  reposeful  minuet,  with 
the  unceremonious,  rapid,  familiar  waltz  of 
the  moderns,  and  quote  some  piquant  lines, 
inclosed  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  to  Lord 
Mount  joy:  — 

ON    WALTZING.  On  waltz- 

ing. 

M  What !  the  girl  I  adore  by  another  embraced  ! 

What !  the  balm  of  her  breath  shall  another  man  taste  ! 

What !  pressed  in  the  whirl  by  another's  bold  knee  ! 

What !  panting,  recline  on  another  than  me  ! 

Sir,  she 's  yours.     You  have  brushed  from  the  grape  its 

soft  blue ; 

From  the  rosebud  you  've  shaken  its  tremulous  dew  : 
What  you've  touched  you  may  take  —  pretty  waltzer 

adieu  !  " 


148  A  Club  of  One 

Books.  My  books  !   What  would  my  life  be  with- 

out them  ?  They  are  my  meat  and  my 
drink.  They  employ  my  mind  and  lift  me 
out  of  myself.  In  hours  of  mental  exalta- 
tion I  forget  my  miserable  body.  I  have  a 
book  for  every  mood  and  every  condition. 
When  my  mind  is  strongest  and  clearest 
and  freest,  I  range  the  upper  fields  of  phi- 
losophy  with  Plato  ;  when  I  am  most  in- 
clined to  pure  reason,  I  listen  to  brave 
Socrates  ;  when  I  am  in  temper  for  obser- 
vation, I  read  y£sop  ;  when  I  want  to  real- 
ize the  power  of  light  over  darkness,  I 
tread  the  dawn  with  Epictetus  ;  when  I 
want  to  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  the  Cae- 
sars, I  follow  Suetonius  ;  then  I  walk  with 
Cicero  and  his  nomenclator  in  the  streets 
of  the  Eternal  City,  and  study  the  arts  of 
the  Roman  politician  ;  of  moral  exaltation, 
I  find  a  rare  example  in  the  heathen  em- 
An-  peror  Marcus  Antoninus  ;  gods,  and  demi- 


gods, and  heroes  fight  for  me  in  Homer  ; 
if  I  want  to  sup  with  horrors,  I  sit  down  in 
terror  with  yEschylus,  witnessing  the  ghost 
of  Clytemnestra  rushing  into  Apollo's  tem- 
ple, and  rousing  the  sleeping  Furies;  if 
I  want  a  refreshing  ride  in  the  chariot  of 
the  sun,  I  take  a  seat  with  Phaeton,  in 
Ovid  ;  at  will,  I  range  paradise  with  Mil- 


A  Club  of  One  149 

ton,  and  explore  perdition  with  Dante ; 
when  I  hunger  for  the  world,  and  want  to 
see  every  type  of  man  and  woman  per- 
fectly represented,  I  read  Shakespeare  ; 
when  I  want  to  study  human  nature,  I  *** 
take  Don  Quixote,  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and 
Faust ;  to  feel  the  inspiration  of  freedom, 
I  scale  the  heights  and  storm  the  fast- 
nesses with  Schiller ;  I  gossip  with  wise 
old  Montaigne ;  think  with  Pascal ;  moral-  Montaigne. 
ize  with  Sir  Thomas  Browne ;  quote  and 
comment  with  Burton  ;  rummage  with  Dis- 
raeli ;  laugh  with  Rabelais  ;  enjoy  the  sug- 
gestive experiences  of  Gil  Bias  ;  am  always 
amused  and  entertained  with  Tristram 
Shandy  ;  Tom  Jones  —  who  could  ever  tire 
of  it  ?  or  of  Humphry  Clinker  ?  or  of  Rod- 
erick Random  ?  or  Swift's  Gulliver  ?  though 
I  am  terrified  sometimes  with  its  pitiless 
wisdom  ;  I  go  a-fishing  with  Izaak,  and  izaak  Wai- 
participate  (the  slightest)  his  meekness  and 
sweet  contentment ;  I  listen  to  sermons 
from  Bourdaloue,  and  Bossuet,  and  Mas- 
sillon,  and  Barrow,  and  South,  and  Chal- 
mers, and  Wesley,  and  Hall ;  I  take  down 
Foster  when  I  want  to  read  a  little  and 
think  more  of  times  gone  by  and  difficulties 
overcome  ;  then  I  philosophize  with  Sou- 
vestre  in  his  Attic  ;  then  enjoy  the  caustic 


/50  A  Club  of  One 

wit  and  keen  satire  of  Thackeray,  and  con- 
template his  immortal  creations  ;  then  the 
humanities  of  Dickens  quicken  me  to  tears, 
and  a  long  procession  of  the  creatures  of 
his  teeming  brain  move  before  me;  Sir 
Walter,  too,  who  is  history  enough  for  me 

Bums.  now  ;  and  Burns  —  the  one  immortal  bard 
of  humanity  —  to  be  cherished  and  sung 
while  man  is  man,  ever  and  ever  ;  and  phil- 
osophic Wordsworth  ;  and  poetic  Shelley 
and  Keats ;  and  the  moral  and  wise  Sam 
Johnson ;  and  the  gentle  and  exquisite 
Goldsmith  ;  and  the  storming  Carlyle,  — 
mighty  hater  and  smiter  of  cant  and 
shams  ;  then  I  discourse  with  Coleridge ; 
pun  and  turn  over  rare  old  books  with 

Lamb.  gentle  Elia  ;  luxuriate  with  abounding  Ma- 
caulay ;  dream  with  De  Quincey ;  expa- 
tiate with  Hazlitt  and  Hunt ;  then  to  the 
Brontes  —  Charlotte  especially ;  then  to 
Miss  Austen  —  so  healthy,  serene,  and 
pure  ;  then  to  something  more  thoughtful 
again  —  to  Emerson,  the  reflective,  the 
wise,  the  exalted  —  fit  society  for  Plato  in 
the  empyrean  ;  then  to  Hawthorne  —  dis- 
sector, interpenetrator  of  hearts  and  lives  ; 
to  scholarly,  witty,  shrewd  Lowell  —  critic, 

Holmes.  poet,  ambassador ;  to  Holmes  —  so  acute, 
humorous,  suggestive,  and  philosophical  in 


A  Club  of  One.  151 

the  Autocrat  and  Elsie  —  altogether  unique 
in  literature ;  and  when  a  taste  for  some- 
thing light,  and  finished,  and  exquisite, 
seizes  me,  I  read  the  Reveries,  and  Prue 
and  I ;  and  so  I  go  on  and  on,  feasting 
with  the  worthies,  and  banqueting  with  the 
celestials,  as  inclination  or  whim  pleases 
me  —  a  precious  book,  as  I  said,  for  every 
mood  and  every  condition. 

Books  !  books  !     It  was  estimated,  some  Books* 

•11-1  r>  books  I 

years  ago,  that  ten  million  volumes,  first 
and  last,  had  been  published  since  the  art 
of  printing  was  discovered  —  with  an  av- 
erage edition  of  three  hundred  —  aggregat- 
ing three  thousand  million  volumes  !  Yet 
tradition  in  Cambridge  has  recorded  that 
Bentley  said  he  desired  and  thought  him- 
self likely  to  live  to  fourscore,  an  age  long 
enough,  he  thought,  to  read  everything 
which  was  worth  reading.  But  single 
books,  and  little  ones  —  what  influence 
they  have  exerted  !  Elizabeth  Wallbridge, 
The  Dairyman's  Daughter,  is  known  to  The  Dairy- 
every  tract  distributor  in  the  world.  The 
tract  containing  the  story  of  her  life  has 
been  translated  into  nineteen  languages, 
and  has  had  a  circulation  of  four  million 
copies.  The  circulation  of  Uncle  Tom's 


/52  A  Club  of  One 

Cabin  has  been  even  more  remarkable. 
And  Thomas  a  Kempis's  Imitation  — • 
think  of  the  influence  of  that.  Leigh 
Hunt,  in  his  Autobiography,  speaks  of  a 
riot  at  Lyons  about  an  equestrian  statue  of 
Louis  XIV.,  meant  to  overawe  the  city 
with  Bourbon  memories.  We  met,  he 
says,  the  statue  on  the  road.  I  had 
bought  in  that  city  a  volume  of  the  songs 
of  Beranger,  and  I  thought  to  myself,  as  I 
met  the  statue,  "  I  have  a  little  book  in  my 
pocket  which  will  not  suffer  you  to  last 
long."  And  surely  enough,  down  it  went : 
for  down  went  King  Charles,  Books, 
thought  Mrs.  Barbauld,  are  a  kind  of  per- 
petual censors  on  men  and  manners  ;  they 
judge  without  partiality,  and  reprove  with- 
out fear  or  affection.  There  are  times 
when  the  flame  of  virtue  and  liberty  seems 
almost  to  be  extinguished  amongst  the  ex- 
istmg  generation  ;  but  their  animated  pages 
are  always  at  hand  to  rekindle  it.  The 
despot  trembles  on  his  throne,  and  the 
bold,  bad  man  turns  pale  in  his  closet  at 
the  sentence  pronounced  against  him  ages 
before  he  was  born.  Happily,  the  best 
books  are  the  commonest,  and  are  always 
in  use.  Erskine  used  to  say  that  in  ad- 
dressing juries  he  had  found  there  were 


A  Club  of  One  153 

three  books,  and  only  three,  which  he  could 
always  quote  with  effect,  Shakespeare,  Mil- 
ton, and  the  Bible.     Milton's  favorite  vol-  Poets*  favor* 
umes  were  Homer,  Ovid,  and  Euripides  ;  *  ' 
Dante's  was  Virgil  ;  Schiller's  was  Shake- 
speare ;  Gray's  was  Spenser  ;  Goethe's  was 
Spinoza's    Ethics  ;  Bunyan's  was   the   old 
legend  of  Sir  Bevis  of  Southampton.     The 
two  books   which   most    impressed    John 
Wesley,  when  young,  were  the  Imitation 


of  Christ,  and  Taylor's  Holy  Living  and  ^€ 
Dying.  De  Quincey's  favorite  few  were 
Donne,  Chillingworth,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Mil- 
ton, South,  Barrow,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Browne.  Napoleon  never  wearied  of  read- 
ing Ossian  and  the  Sorrows  of  Werther. 
Miss  Austen's  novels  were  favorites  with 
Macaulay  ;  he  enjoyed  them  especially  for 
their  serenity.  Thackeray  was  particularly 
fond  of  Humphry  Clinker  ;  he  believed  it  Humphry 

Clinker. 

to  be  "  the  most  laughable  story  that  has 
ever  been  written  since  the  goodly  art  of 
novel-writing  began."  Douglas  Jerrold  had 
an  almost  reverential  fondness  for  books  — 
books  themselves  —  and  said  he  could  not 
bear  to  treat  them,  or  to  see  them  treated, 
with  disrespect.  It  always  gave  him  pain 
to  see  them  turned  on  their  faces,  stretched 
open,  or  dog's  eared,  or  carelessly  flung 


^  Club  of  One 

down,  or  in  any  way  misused.  Bayle,  it  is 
known,  gave  up  every  sort  of  recreation, 

Delicious  in-  except  that  delicious  inebriation  of  his  fac- 
ulties which  he  drew  from  his  books.  If 
the  riches  of  both  Indies,  said  Fe"nelon ;  if 
the  crowns  of  all  the  kingdoms  of  Europe 
were  laid  at  my  feet,  in  exchange  for  my 
love  for  reading,  I  would  spurn  them  all. 

Pope  to        At  this  day,  said  Pope  to  Spence,  as  much 

Spence.  r  r 

company  as  I  have  kept,  and  as  much  as 
I  love  it,  I  love  reading  better.  I  would 
rather  be  employed  in  reading  than  in  the 
most  agreeable  conversation.  There  is  a 
story  that  Dante,  having  gone  one  day  to 
the  house  of  a  bookseller,  from  one  of  whose 
windows  he  was  to  be  a  spectator  of  a  pub- 
lic show  exhibited  in  the  square  below,  by 
chance  took  up  a  book,  in  which  he  soon 

Dante  ab-  got  so  absorbed  that  on  returning  home, 
after  the  spectacle  was  over,  he  solemnly 
declared  that  he  had  neither  seen  nor  heard 
anything  whatever  of  all  that  had  taken 
place  before  his  eyes.  Scott,  in  Waverley, 
describes  the  Baron  of  Bradwardine  as  a 
scholar,  according  to  the  scholarship  of 
Scotchmen  ;  that  is,  his  learning  was  more 
diffuse  than  accurate,  and  he  was  rather  a 

zeal  for  reader  than  a  grammarian.  Of  his  zeal  for 
the  classic  authors  he  is  said  to  have  given 


A  Club  of  One  155 

an  unconscious  instance.  On  the  road  be-  AM  uncon- 
tween  Preston  and  London  he  made  his  stance. 
escape  from  his  guards  ;  but  being  after- 
wards found  loitering  near  the  place  where 
they  had  lodged  the  former  night,  he  was 
recognized  and  again  arrested.  His  com- 
panions, and  even  his  escort,  were  sur- 
prised at  his  infatuation,  and  could  not 
help  inquiring  why,  being  once  at  liberty, 
he  had  not  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  a 
place  of  safety  ;  to  which  he  replied,  that 
he  had  intended  to  do  so,  but,  in  good 
faith,  he  had  returned  to  seek  his  Titus 
Livius,  which  he  had  forgot  in  the  hurry 
of  his  escape.  Plato's  cave,  in  which  he  Piatfscav 
supposes  a  man  to  be  shut  up  all  his  life 
with  his  back  to  the  light,  and  to  see  noth- 
ing of  the  figures  of  men  or  other  objects 
that  pass  by  but  their  shadows  on  the  op- 
posite wall  of  his  cell,  so  that  when  he  is 
let  out  and  sees  the  real  figures  he  is  only 
dazzled  and  confounded  by  them,  seemed 
to  Hazlitt  an  ingenious  satire  on  the  life  satire  on 
of  a  bookworm.  I  confess  to  the  French- 
man's  hatred  of  a  dirty  book.  It  is  in 
truth  an  error  to  suppose  that  the  dirt  on 
the  cover  and  pages  of  a  book  is  a  sign  of 
its  studious  employment.  Those  who  use 
books  to  most  purpose  handle  them  with 


A  Club  of  One 

Book-bar-  loving  care.  And  as  to  persistent  book- 
borrowing,  book-owners  can  hardly  trust 
themselves  to  speak  of  it.  Its  common- 
ness does  not  excuse  the  offense.  It  is 
said  that  Lord  Eldon,  when  chancellor, 
greatly  augmented  his  library  by  borrow- 
ing books  quoted  at  the  bar ;  and  forget- 
ting to  return  them,  he  would  say  of  such 
borrowers,  "  Though  backward  in  account- 
ing, they  were  well-practiced  in  book-keep- 

Book-thiev-  ing."  But  deliberate  book-thieving  —  what 
crime  is  there  to  compare  with  it  in  the 
estimation  of  the  student  and  librarian  ? 
In  Chambers's  Journal  there  is  an  account 
of  a  memorable  literary  virtuoso  who  piqued 
himself  upon  his  collection  of  scarce  edi- 
tions and  original  manuscripts,  most  of 
which  he  had  purloined  from  the  libraries 
of  others.  He  was  always  borrowing  books 
of  acquaintances  with  a  resolution  never  to 
return  them  ;  sending  in  a  great  hurry  for 
a  particular  edition  which  he  wanted  to 

subterfuges,  consult  for  a  moment,  but  when  its  return 
was  solicited  he  was  not  at  home ;  or  he 
had  lent  the  book  to  somebody  else  ;  or  he 
could  not  lay  his  hand  upon  it  just  then  ; 
or  he  had  lost  it ;  or  he  had  himself  al- 
ready delivered  it  to  the  owner.  Some- 
times he  contented  himself  with  stealing 


A  Club  of  One  757 

one  volume  of  a  set,  knowing  where  to  pro- 
cure the  rest  for  a  trifle.  After  his  death 
his  library  was  sold  at  auction,  and  many 
of  his  defrauded  friends  had  the  pleasure 
of  buying  their  own  property  back  again  Bu 
at  an  exorbitant  price.  Reading  lately  of  *^~ 
book-titles,  I  was  amused  with  a  statement 
of  how  misleading  many  of  them  have 
been.  The  Diversions  of  Purley,  at  the  Diversions 
time  of  its  publication,  was  ordered  by  a  * 
village  book-club,  under  the  impression 
that  it  was  a  book  of  amusing  games. 
The  Essay  on  Irish  Bulls  was  another 
work  which  was  thought  by  some  folks  to 
deal  with  live  stock.  The  Ancient  Mar- 
iner was  sold  largely  to  sea-faring  men, 
who  concluded  from  the  name  that  it  had 
some  relation  to  nautical  matters.  The  TheExcur- 

.,-,  .  •  •  r    .  sion. 

.bxcursion  —  expensive  copies  or  it  —  were 
sold  to  tourists  and  to  keepers  of  country 
inns  and  boarding-houses,  as  likely  to  be 
of  especial  interest  to  excursionists.  James 
Smith  used  to  dwell  with  much  pleasure 
on  the  criticism  of  a  Leicestershire  clergy- 
man :  "  I  do  not  see  why  they  (the  Ad-  Rejected A& 
dresses)  should  have  been  rejected  :  I  think  * 
some  of  them  very  good."  This,  he  would 
add,  is  almost  as  good  as  the  avowal  of  the 
Irish  bishop,  that  there  were  some  good 


/ $8  A  Club  of  One 

things  in  Gulliver's  Travels  which  he 
Tocqve-  could  not  believe.  Tocqueville  preferred 
living  with  books  to  living  with  authors. 
One  is  not  always  happy  with  the  latter ; 
while  books  are  intelligent  companions, 
without  vanity,  ill-humor,  or  caprice ;  they 
do  not  want  to  talk  of  themselves,  do  not 
dislike  to  hear  others  praised ;  clever  peo- 
ple whom  one  can  summon  and  dismiss 
just  as  one  pleases.  I  often  derive  a  pe- 
steme's  culiar  satisfaction,  says  Sterne,  in  convers- 
ing with  the  ancient  and  modern  dead, 
who  yet  live  and  speak  excellently  in  their 
works.  My  neighbors  think  me  often 
alone,  and  yet  at  such  times  I  am  in  com- 
pany with  more  than  five  hundred  mutes 
—  each  of  whom,  at  my  pleasure,  commu- 
nicates his  ideas  to  me  by  dumb  signs, 
quite  as  intelligibly  as  any  person  living 
can  do  by  the  uttering  of  words.  They  al- 
ways keep  the  distance  from  me  which  I 
direct,  and  with  a  motion  of  my  hand  I  can 
bring  them  as  near  to  me  as  I  please.  I 
lay  hands  on  fifty  of  them  sometimes  in  an 
evening,  and  handle  them  as  I  like ;  they 
never  complain  of  ill-usage  ;  and  when  dis- 
missed from  my  presence,  though  ever  so 
Hmuto  abruptly,  take  no  offense.  How  to  read  ? 
is  a  grave  question  to  readers.  Goethe 


A  Club  of  One  159 

said  he  had  been  employed  for  eighteen 
years  trying  to  learn  the  art,  and  had  not 
attained  it.  Richter,  speaking  of  miscella- 
neous reading,  inquires,  quaintly,  "  Does 
more  depend  on  the  order  in  which  the 
meats  follow  each  other  or  on  the  diges- 
tion of  them  ?  "  In  1731,  Atterbury  wrote 
his  last  letter  to  Pope,  and  asks,  "  How 
many  books  have  come  out  of  late  in  your 
parts  which  you  think  I  should  be  glad  to 
peruse  ?  Name  them.  The  catalogue,  I 
believe,  will  not  cost  you  much  trouble. 
They  must  be  good  ones  indeed  to  chal- 
lenge any  part  of  my  time,  now  I  have  so 
little  of  it  left.  I,  who  squandered  whole 
days  heretofore,  now  husband  hours  when 
the  glass  begins  to  run  low,  and  care  not 
to  spend  them  on  trifles.  At  the  end  of 
the  lottery  of  life  our  last  minutes,  like 
tickets  left  in  the  wheel,  rise  in  their  valu- 
ation." "Marvelous  power  of  mind  !  "  ex- 
claims  Souvestre,  reflecting  on  the  value  of 
books  in  old  age.  "  From  a  corner  of  my 
chamber  —  from  the  arm-chair  which  I  oc- 
cupy —  I  can  traverse  the  immense  abysses 
of  the  past.  I  am  present  at  the  founda- 
tion of  cities,  the  birth  and  growth  of  em- 
pires ;  I  accompany  various  races  as  they 
wander  over  the  earth,  establish  them- 


i6o 


A  Club  of  One 


Takes  note 
ef human- 
ity. 


Distances 
nothing. 


Magnificent 
empire  of 
memory  I 


A  strange 
dream,  or 
vision. 


selves,  and  found  nations  ;  I  take  note  o*f 
that  perpetual  movement  of  humanity,  as 
it  seeks  its  level  on  the  globe  which  has 
been  given  to  it  for  an  inheritance.  Or, 
fatigued  with  these  generalities,  I  repose 
in  the  tent  of  the  patriarch  Abraham,  or 
beneath  the  oak  of  St.  Louis.  From  the 
tribune  of  Cicero  I  pass  to  the  pulpit  of 
Bossuet ;  distances  are  nothing  to  me ;  I 
traverse  them  by  an  instantaneous  bound, 
whether  those  of  space  or  time.  From  the 
east  I  hasten  to  the  west,  from  the  early 
days  of  the  world  I  pass  on  to  the  hour 
which  has  just  struck ;  wherever  an  at- 
tractive spectacle  summons  me,  I  am  there 
in  spirit ;  or  a  noble  action  or  an  elevated 
conversation  invites  me,  I  am  present  to 
applaud  or  take  part.  Magnificent  empire 
of  memory !  vast  power  and  inexhaustible 
activity  of  thought !  I  cease  to  be  troubled 
now  at  my  solitude  and  forced  inaction." 

I  had  a  strange  dream  last  night  —  or 
vision  rather.  I  record  it  as  a  curious 
freak  or  exercise  of  the  faculties.  The 
doctor  must  have  put  a  little  too  much 
opium  in  his  last  powders.  Methought  my 
pretty  round  table  in  the  library  was  en- 
larged to  many  times  its  real  size.  I  was 


A  Club  of  One  161 

contemplating  its  polished  surface,  and 
wondering  if  any  wood  could  be  richer  and 
more  beautiful  than  our  American  black 
walnut,  when  a  pill-box  made  its  appear- 

,  ,  . , .  ,  .      .  -made  its  ap- 

ance  on  the  table,  —  rolling  about  in  an  pearance. 
erratic  way  —  describing  all  sorts  of  circles 
and  semicircles,  in  the  easiest  and  most  ec- 
centric manner  possible.     It  was  a  diminu- 
tive thing  —  the  tiniest  of  the  kind  I  had  The  tiniest 

.  ,  of  its  kind. 

ever  seen  —  not  greater  in  diameter  than 
the  smallest  thimble.  It  was  so  small  in- 
deed that  a  close  eye  was  necessary  to  ob- 
serve its  movements.  Soon,  another  pill- 
box, a  size  larger,  presented  itself,  and  the 
two  immediately  began  chasing  each  other 
in  a  very  amusing  manner — sometimes  in 
straight  lines  and  sometimes  in  graceful 
curves.  Then  another  pill-box,  a  size  big- 
ger than  the  last,  made  its  appearance,  and 
joined  with  the  others  in  freakish  gambols. 
A  fourth  next  showed  itself  —  still  a  little  stm  larger. 
larger  than  the  third  —  in  a  still  more  rol- 
licking humor  than  any  of  the  rest,  and  it 
became  very  difficult  indeed  to  watch  them, 
so  rapid  and  peculiar  were  their  move- 
ments. Then  another  and  another,  each 
one  a  little  bigger,  till  the  table  was  pretty 
well  filled  with  animated  pill-boxes.  There 
must  have  been  as  many  as  forty  or  fifty 


162  A  Club  of  One 

of  every      of  them,  —  of  every  size  and  variety,  from 

Variety.        the   minute   smallest   to  that   of   greatest 

proportions.     No   apothecary  ever   saw   a 

greater  array  and  intermixture.     And  each 

was  marked  with  a  cabalistic  label,  such  as 

I  had  seen  many  a  time  in  the  handwriting 

of  the  numerous  forgotten  doctors  my  mul- 

tiplied diseases  have  baffled.     The  myste- 

rious characters  inscribed  on  each  would 

A  study  for  have  been  an  interesting  study  to  the  ar- 

thearchaol-  ,  J 

ogist.          chaeologist.     I  wish  I  had  a  memorandum 

of  them.     The  gravest  of  all  my  doctors 

would    have  laughed   at   their   queerness, 

their  variety,  and  their  multiplicity.    Away 

they  all  ran  —  the  whole  forty  or  fifty  — 

in  infinite  variation  —  describing,  it  seemed 

Every  fig-    to  me,  every  known  figure  in  geometry,  — 

MrvM{wfr  ^jstjnct  an(j  jn  combination.     Sometimes  I 

thought  their  movements  described  the 
orbits  of  the  solar  system  better  than  any 
planetarium  I  had  seen.  Then  in  a  long 
curved  line  they  ranged  themselves,  —  the 
first  in  the  procession  being  the  tiniest, 
and  the  last  the  most  gigantic  —  as  big  as 
Gibbon's  snuff-box  that  he  tapped  so  grace- 


muff-box.  ..  .  1-111 

fully,  and  a  pinch  from  which  he  always 
let  fall  at  just  the  right  moment  to  empha- 
size his  story.  In  that  long  serpentine 
line  how  they  did  crawl  about  ;  then  wrig- 


A  Club  of  One  163 

gled  and  twisted  into  all  sorts  of  contor- 
tions and  convolutions;  then  stretched 
themselves  into  something  like  order  again. 
Their  speed  was  interesting  —  their  revo- 
lutions,  I  mean.  The  big  ones  had  stately  lutions' 
movements,  like  the  great  wheels  of  great 
engines.  There  was  an  expression  of 
power  in  their  slowness,  and  of  apparent 
contempt  for  the  little  bustling  fellows 
that  had  to  be  constantly  hurrying  to  keep 
up.  Then  they  were  all  mixed  up  —  the 
little  ones  and  the  big  ones  together.  Big  and  ut- 
They  were  so  involved  that  I  could  not 
tell  one  from  another ;  and  the  wonder 
was  that  there  was  no  collision.  Then 
they  went  leaping  and  leaping,  till  it  ap- 
peared there  must  be  a  universal  smash. 
I  trembled  for  the  consequences.  Then 
the  tops  or  coverings  came  off,  and  mingled 
miscellaneously  with  the  other  parts,  show- 
ing fresh  vigor  in  the  chase,  as  so  many 
fresh  foxes.  The  boxes  that  had  contained 
so  many  incompatibles  fused  together  in 
close  companionship.  The  opium  was  not 
at  all  disgusted  with  the  lobelia.  The  jalap 
and  the  pleasantest  of  all  soothing  rem- 
edies affiliated,  as  if  they  had  been  friends 
since  Galen.  Then  they  ranged  them- 
selves again  into  long  serpentine  lines  — 


164 


A  Club  of  One 


Playing  at 
leap-frog. 


Dance  of 
the  Pill- 
Boxes. 


the  boxes  and  the  lids  separate.  After  al- 
ternate slow  and  rapid  movements,  they 
began  playing  at  leap-frog  —  the  smallest 
being  vaulted  by  the  next  in  size,  until  the 
whole  lines  were  changed — the  most  dimin- 
utive bringing  up  the  rear,  and  the  largest 
leading  the  column.  And  so  they  went  on 
with  their  varied  and  indescribable  gyra- 
tions and  convolutions ;  when,  suddenly 
leaping  into  one  another,  they  nested  them- 
selves snugly  together ;  then  as  quickly 
and  mysteriously  disappeared,  and  the  re- 
markable scene  was  ended.  No  Roman 
emperor  in  the  Flavian  amphitheatre  was 
ever  better  entertained.  I  call  it  The 
Dance  of  the  Pill-Boxes. 


Talks  of 
books  exclu- 
sively. 


By  appointment,  the  doctor  spent  a 
couple  of  hours  with  me  last  night  in  my 
library.  I  had  anticipated  his  visit  in 
every  way  that  I  could,  and  was  glad  to 
see  him.  The  place  was  cheerfully  illumi- 
nated, and  the  wine  was  the  best  that  my 
cellar  afforded.  I  was  pleased  to  see  that 
he  was  disposed  to  be  attentive  and  recep- 
tive, as  my  purpose  was  to  talk  to  him  of 
books  exclusively,  with  a  view  to  enlight- 
ening him  as  to  some  of  the  best,  and  to 
show  him  what  a  comparatively  small  sum 


A  Club  of  One  165 

of    money   would   put   him   in   possession 
of   them.      For,   time   and   again,  he   has 
lamented  to  me  his  lack  of  intelligence  on 
the  subject,  as  well  as  of  the  requisite  cash 
to  buy,  even  though  he  knew  what  books  he 
should  purchase.     To  convince  him  that  a  TO  convince 
good  proportion  of  the  famous  books  that 
have  been  produced  could  be  put  into  a 
small   space,   and   that   not   a   very  large 
amount  of  money  would  be  necessary  to 
purchase  them,  I  caused  two  hundred  or 
more  volumes  to  be  placed  together  in  one  contents  of 
case  with  seven  shelves,  each  of  four  feet  m 
in  length,  that  he  might  be  convinced  by 
seeing,  as  well  as  by  my  didactic  instruc- 
tion.    To  have  the  whole  before  us  as  a 
sort  of  object-lesson,  our  easy  chairs  were 
so  placed  that  we  could  view  the  collection 
to   the  best   advantage.      The   first   shelf  The  first 
(the  lowest)  was  just  filled  with  the  Bible,  ***** 
in  four  volumes   (Samuel  Bagster  &  Sons, 
London)  ;  Webster's  Unabridged  Diction- 
ary ;  Anthon's   Classical   Dictionary ;  and 
Appleton's  Cyclopaedia,   16   volumes ;   (22 
volumes   in   all).     The   second   shelf   was  The  second 
filled  with  octavos   (some  of  them  of  two  ** 
and  more  volumes)  of  Shakespeare,  Bacon, 
Milton,     Homer,    Dante,    Virgil,     Faust, 
Chambers'  Encyclopaedia  of  English  Liter- 


1 66  A  Club  of  One 

ature  (London  and  Edinburgh)  ;  and  Bry- 
ant's Library  of  Poetry  and  Song.  These 
are  all  good  editions,  well  printed,  and  ap- 
propriately (as  I  said)  in  octavo.  The 
other  five  shelves  contained  the  following, 
—  named  in  the  order  in  which  the  books 
happened  to  be  placed,  and  not  according 
to  preference.  They  are  in  crown  octavo, 
I2mo,  and  i6mo  —  a  very  few  of  the  lat- 
ter—  only  such  as  could  not  be  conven- 
iently purchased  of  a  larger  size.  Plato's 
Republic  and  Phaedo,  2  volumes  (from 
Bohn's  Standard  Library).  Emerson's 
A  beautiful  Prose  Works,  2  volumes.  Montaigne's 
Essays,  4  volumes  (the  beautiful  Riverside 
edition  —  exquisite  letter-press — the  proof- 
sheets  of  the  perfect  pages  having  been 
read  by  Mr.  H.  O.  Houghton  himself,  long 
before  he  attained  the  head  of  the  pub- 
lishing house  of  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&  Company).  Swift's  Works,  6  volumes. 
Goldsmith's  works,  4  volumes.  Seneca's 
Morals  (London,  1702).  Carlyle's  Essays, 
Sartor  Resartus,  and  French  Revolution, 
6  volumes.  Hawthorne's  Scarlet  Letter 
(his  masterpiece).  Holmes's  Autocrat,  and 
Elsie  Venner,  2  volumes  (the  cream  of  his 
genius.)  Curtis' s  Prue  and  I  (a  little  vol- 
ume of  exquisite  sketches).  Uncle  Tom's 


A  Club  of  One  167 

Cabin.  Souvestre's  Attic  Philosopher,  and 
Leaves  from  a  Family  Journal,  2  volumes 
(suited  to  serene  moods).  De  Quincey's 
Opium  Eater.  Sydney  Smith  (a  volume 
of  selections,  including  the  Peter  Plymley 
Letters).  Wilson's  Noctes  Ambrosianae  One  volume 
(a  volume  made  up  from  the  five  original 


volumes,  containing  most  that  is  best  and 
of  general  interest).  Miss  Austen's  Pride 
and  Prejudice.  Arabian  Nights.  Lamb's 
Essays,  and  Talfourd's  Life  and  Letters, 
3  volumes.  Pascal's  Thoughts.  Epictetus 
(a  beautiful  edition,  Little,  Brown  &  Com- 
pany). La  Rochefoucauld's  Maxims  (Wil- 
liam Gowans,  Nassau  Street,  —  that  in-  A 

i   «i  i«  •%•    .       i  ingbiblio- 

terestmg  bibhopolist,  known  to  so  many  poiist. 
book-lovers  :  I  could  gossip  about  him  for 
an  hour).  Irving's  Sketch-Book,  Knick- 
erbocker's History  of  New  York,  and  Life 
of  Goldsmith,  3  volumes  (his  complete 
works  would  fill  a  whole  shelf).  Foster's 
Essays.  Charlotte  Bronte's  Jane  Eyre. 
Mill  on  Liberty.  Gil  Bias.  Burns  (with 
marginal  glossary,  John  S.  Marr  &  Sons, 
Glasgow,  —  the  most  convenient  edition  A  conven- 
of  Burns  for  English  readers  that  I  know). 
Godwin's  Caleb  Williams.  Junius's  Let- 
ters. Crabb  Robinson's  Diary.  Tragedies 
of  ^Eschylus.  Butler's  Hudibras.  Bun- 


168  A  Club  of  One 

yan's  Pilgrim's  Progress.  Cicero's  Offices, 
etc.  (a  single  volume  from  Bonn's).  Hol- 
bein's Dance  of  Death.  Macaulay's  Es- 
says, 6  volumes.  Dana's  Two  Years  Before 
the  Mast.  Darwin's  Voyage.  Selections 
from  Savage  Landor,  by  Hillard.  (A  rich 
little  book.)  Boswell's  Johnson,  4  vol- 
umes. Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy, 
3  volumes.  (It  would  not  do  to  be  without 
Burton.)  Reveries  of  a  Bachelor.  (This 
Books  that  is  another  of  those  little  books  that  have 
flavor,  and  must  live.)  Disraeli's  Curiosi- 
ties of  Literature,  4  volumes.  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  (Religio  Medici,  A  Letter  to  a 
Friend,  Christian  Morals,  and  Urn  Burial, 
in  one  attractive  volume,  imprint,  Ticknor 
&  Fields).  Fenelon  (a  selection  from  his 
writings,  Munroe  &  Company,  Boston  and 
Cambridge).  Robinson  Crusoe.  Wilhelm 
Meister.  Dickens's  Pickwick  Papers,  Da- 
vid Copperfield,  and  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  3 
volumes.  (His  humor,  his  pathos,  and  his 
power  are  best  displayed  in  these  three 
masterpieces.)  Letters  of  Madame  de  Se- 
vigne".  Letters  of  Lady  Mary  Wort- 
ley  Montagu.  Rasselas.  Walton's  Angler. 
White's  History  of  Selborne.  Thoreau's 
Walden.  Charles  O'Malley.  Of  the  Imi- 
tation of  Christ.  Fielding's  Tom  Jones 


A  Club  of  One  169 

and   Humphry   Clinker,   2   volumes.     Pic- 
ciola.     Jeremy  Taylor's  Holy  Living  and 
Holy  Dying,  2  volumes.     Book  of  Scottish  A  good  book 
Songs  (a  volume  of  the  Illustrated  London  " 

Library,  —  an  admirable  collection,  and  a 
beautiful  book).  Thomas  Fuller's  Holy 
and  Profane  States,  and  Good  Thoughts  in 
Bad  Times,  2  volumes  (selections  from  the 
works  of  the  old  worthy).  Confucius,  and 
the  Chinese  Classics.  Froude's  Short 
Studies  on  Great  Subjects  (the  volume  con- 

,,  ,          -r-»        i  r     T    t  \      ticle  on  the 

taming  the  article  on  the  Book  of  Job).  Book  of  job. 
Vanity  Fair  and  The  Newcomes.  Cooper's 
Spy.  Balzac's  Petty  Annoyances  of  Mar- 
ried Life  (one  of  the  most  amusing  and 
acute  books  in  literature,  whatever  may  be 
thought  of  its  tone  and  spirit).  Rabelais. 
Ecce  Homo.  (Why  has  the  Professor 
never  published  the  promised  companion 
volume  ?)  Spence's  Anecdotes.  Vathek. 
Lewis's  Monk  (a  queer,  crazy  old  copy, 
printed  on  different  fonts  of  type,  and  con- 
taining pictures  of  the  veritable  devils).  Sel- 
den's  Table  Talk.  Johnson's  Lives  of  the 
English  Poets,  2  volumes  (to  get  the  Life 
of  Savage  :  why  don't  some  publisher  print  A  suggestion 
it  separately?)  Aristotle's  Ethics.  Lu-  *** 
ther's  Table  Talk.  Hazlitt's  Round-Table 
volume  (containing  Conversations  of  North- 


i  jo  A  Club  of  One 

cote).  Life  of  John  Brown  of  Ossawat- 
tomie.  Montesquieu,  4  volumes.  Don 
Quixote.  Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered. 
Kinglake's  Eothen.  Jerrold's  Mrs.  Cau- 
dle's Curtain  Lectures,  and  Chronicles  of 
Clovernook,  2  volumes.  Evelyn's  Diary. 
Pepys'  Diary.  The  Spectator,  8  volumes 
(a  beautiful  edition,  Little,  Brown  &  Com- 
pany). Southey's  Wesley,  Nelson,  and  The 
Doctor,  3  volumes.  Machiavelli's  Prince. 
Plutarch's  Lives,  4  volumes.  Plutarch's 
Morals,  4  volumes.  Meditations  of  the 
Emperor  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus  (Lon- 
don, 1708).  La  Bruyere's  Characters  (Lon- 
don, 1702).  Erasmus's  Praise  of  Folly, 
and  Colloquies,  2  volumes  (London,  1711. 
These  authors  should  be  read  in  old  edi- 

Blowing  the  tions.  It  is  like  blowing  dust  off  vellum). 
*  '~  Coleridge's  Table  Talk.  Sir  Thomas  More's 
Utopia.  (How  the  figments  of  his  imagi- 
nation have  been  realized  in  the  later  life 
of  the  race  !  Original  thinking  seems  like 
commonplace.)  Scott's  Old  Mortality, 
Ivanhoe,  and  Guy  Mannering.  (These 
three  embody  the  magician's  genius,  and 
save  space  and  money.)  Bulwer's  My 
Novel.  Reynard  the  Fox.  Lover's  Le- 

The  story  gends  and  Stories  of  Ireland  (to  get  the 
story  of  Barny  O'Reirdon).  Joubert's 


A  Club  of  One  171 

Thoughts.  Parton's  Voltaire,  2  volumes. 
Manzoni's  Betrothed  Lovers.  John  Wool- 
man's  Journal.  Paul  and  Virginia  ("the 
swan-song  of  old  dying  France").  Alger's 
Oriental  Poetry.  Sterne's  Works,  4  vol- 
umes. Mandeville's  Fable  of  the  Bees,  2 
volumes.  (A  work  that  is  destined,  as 
Swift  would  say,  to  "go  down  the  gutter 
of  time,"  for  its  boldness  and  originality, 
notwithstanding  its  burning  by  the  Middle- 
sex grand  jury.)  And  lastly  (deserving  to  The  last,  but 
be  mentioned  amongst  the  first)  Xeno-  ITst. 
phon's  Memorabilia  of  Socrates.  In  all, 
something  like  220  volumes.  As  to  cost, 
I  once  saw  a  rich  Californian  pay  as  much 
for  sets  of  Irving  and  Cooper  in  tree  calf 
as  would  have  bought  the  whole  collection, 
including  a  respectable  case  to  put  it  in. 
My  friend  the  doctor  wears  a  stone  in  his 
shirt-front,  which  makes  him  ridiculous 
with  sensible  people,  and  excites  the  cupid- 
ity of  every  ruffian  that  meets  him,  that 
would  buy  the  whole  precious  collection 
twice  over.  I  believe  I  shall  call  it  My  "My Grind- 
Grindstone  Library.  What  mind  would 
not  be  sharpened  by  consulting  it  ?  And 
where,  pray,  would  one  begin  to  weed  ?  I 
think  I  shall  have  an  artisan  inscribe  the 
significant  name  at  the  top,  just  under  the 


172  A  Club  of  One 

moulding.     It  is  not  likely  that  many  ap- 
plications will  be  made  to  borrow  from  it. 

One  of  my  best  friends  is  an   old-time 

man  ty°pe.  Quaker,  of  the  John  Woolman  type,  which 
is  rapidly  disappearing.  He  is  an  excellent 
man,  and  a  call  from  him  always  refreshes 
me.  He  carries  an  atmosphere  of  peace 
and  good-will  with  him.  He  is  an  honest 
man.  He  is  what  he  seems  to  be,  and 
seems  to  be  what  he  is.  No  wonder  that 
such  men,  under  the  leadership  of  George 

George  FOX.  Fox,  should  have  disturbed  the  compla- 
cency of  conformists  in  England.  Macau- 
lay  describes  the  tempest  of  derision  the 
sturdy  shoemaker  raised  by  declaring  that 
it  was  a  violation  of  Christian  sincerity  to 
designate  a  single  person  by  a  plural  pro- 
noun, and  that  it  was  an  idolatrous  homage 
to  Janus  and  Woden  to  talk  about  January 
and  Wednesday.  Teufelsdrockh,  in  Sartor, 
pronounces  the  most  remarkable  incident 
in  modern  history,  not  the  Diet  of  Worms, 
still  less  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  Waterloo, 
Peterloo,  or  any  other  battle,  but  George 

Making  to    Fox's  making  to  himself  a  suit  of  leather. 

™!t of  a      "  Sitting  in  his  stall ;  working  on  tanned 

leather.  .  .  ,  .  , 

hides,   amid   pincers,    paste-horns,     rosin, 
swine-bristles,  and  a  nameless  flood  of  rub- 


A  Club  of  One  173 

bish,  this  man  had  nevertheless  a  living 
spirit  belonging  to  him."  It  is  very  evident 
that  Macaulay  had  anything  but  a  warm 
side  for  the  sect  that  by  its  zeal  and  direct- 
ness and  courage  had  done  so  much  toward 
turning  all  that  had  been  considered  estab- 
lished upside  down.  South ey,  too,  never  let 
an  opportunity  pass  without  hitting  the  rev- 
olutionary peace  sect  a  blow.  And  Cole- 
ridge— how  merciless!  —  as  exhibited  in  a 
passage  in  his  Table  Talk.  He  is  speaking 
of  modern  Quakerism,  be  it  remembered 
—  unlike  the  original  type,  exemplified  by 
my  worthy  and  amiable  friend.  "  Modern 
Quakerism,"  he  says,  "  is  like  one  of  those 
gigantic  trees  which  are  seen  in  the  forests 
of  North  America — apparently  flourishing, 
and  preserving  all  its  greatest  stretch  and 
spread  of  branches ;  but  when  you  cut 
through  an  enormously  thick  and  gnarled 
bark,  you  find  the  whole  inside  hollow  and 
rotten.  Modern  Quakerism,  like  such  a 
tree,  stands  upright  by  help  of  its  inveter- 
ate bark  alone.  Bark  a  Quaker,  and  he  is 
a  poor  creature."  One  of  the  most  distin- 
guished ministers  of  the  Society  of  Friends 
in  America  at  an  early  day  thought  it 
necessary,  when  speaking  in  his  Journal  of 
a  morning  walk  outside  Geneva  (where  he 


1  74  A  Club  of  One 

was  tarrying  in  the  interest  of  his  society), 
to  apologize  for  taking  a  look  at  Geneva 
Lake  and  the  mountains.  "  I  walked,"  he 
says,  "  out  of  the  city  (Geneva)  and  viewed 

Asceticism,  the  Alps  and  the  lake  ;  this  I  did  for  the 
sake  of  the  walk."  The  peculiar  style  of 
the  sect  —  more  in  vogue  a  few  years  ago 
than  now  —  is  shown  in  the  letter  —  pro- 
nounced to  be  authentic  :  "  Friend  John  :  I 
desire  thee  to  be  so  kind  as  to  go  to  one  of 
those  sinful  men  in  the  flesh  called  an  at- 
torney, and  let  him  take  out  an  instrument, 
with  a  seal  fixed  thereto  ;  by  means  where- 

"  The  out-     of  we  may  seize  the  outward  tabernacle  of 


George  Green,  and  bring  him  before  the 
lambskin  men  at  Westminster,  and  teach 
him  to  do  as  he  would  be  done  by  :  and 
so  I  rest  thy  friend  in  the  light.  M.  G." 
Their  sermons,  too,  were  sometimes  very 
peculiar  and  concise,  though  their  meetings 
were  apt  to  be  silent.  On  one  occasion, 
when  a  large  audience  was  assembled,  the 
only  words  spoken  were  by  a  lady  —  very 
A  short  ser-  deliberately  :  "  Help  yourselves,  and  your 
friends  will  like  you  the  better."  I  have 
heard  my  mother  say  that  she  once  went 
several  miles,  on  horseback  with  her  two 
boys,  to  a  Quaker  meeting  in  the  woods, 
and  that  the  remarkable  sermon  preached  at 


A  Club  of  One  175 

the  time  (by  a  lady  too)  had  made  such  an 
impression  upon  her  that  she  could  never 
forget  it.  It  also  was  delivered  in  a  very 
measured,  deliberate  manner,  and  did  not 
disturb  in  the  least  the  stillness,  serenity, 
and  solemnity  of  the  meeting  :  "  Beware  of  Another  stui 
puff  edupness ! "  Its  brevity  and  conciseness 
made  it  memorable  ;  and  my  mother  often 
repeated  it  with  effect  when  her  half-dozen 
self-conceited  boys  were  most  intolerable. 
The  early  hostility  of  the  sect  to  music 
was  a  part  of  their  religion,  and  was  very 
decided.  When  Jenny  Lind  appeared  in  a  yennyLind. 
Western  city  in  185 1,  and  a  limited  number 
of  the  society  in  a  neighboring  town  had 
announced  their  intention  of  hearing  the 
"  Nightingale,"  the  conscientious  "  head  of 
the  meeting"  "felt  a  concern"  to  arise  in 
fourth  day  (Wednesday)  meeting  and  ad- 
monish his  hearers  that  there  was  a  "for- 
eign girl  named  Jane  Lynde  trapesing  up 
and  down  the  land  whose  voice  was  said  to 
provoke  the  birds  to  sing,  and  he  would  warn  Provoking 

.    111  f  •  *          the  birds  to 

especially  the  young  of  the  meeting  to  be-  sing. 
ware  the  wiles  of  all  such  worldly  persons." 
One  John  M.,  a  Friend  of  like  strictness, 
was  shocked  to  learn  that  his  son-in-law, 
Jonathan  T.,  who  kept  a  country  store  in  a 
village  some  miles  away,  was  selling  musical 


176  A  Club  of  One 

instruments.  The  venerable  good  man, 
after  a  night  of  prayers  and  tears,  deter- 
mined  to  visit  his  son-in-law,  and  break  up 
the  sinful  traffic.  Arriving  in  front  of  his 
son-in-law's  store,  he  called  him  into  the 
street  —  refusing  peremptorily  to  go  in,  till 
the  object  of  his  visit  was  accomplished. 
"Jonathan  !  "  sternly  spake  John,  "  I  hear 
thee  keeps  musical  instruments  for  sale  ; 
does  thee  ? "  "A  few ;  but "  —  The  zeal- 
ous John  —  interrupting  —  demanded  that 
they  be  produced  at  once,  to  be  destroyed 
—  promising  to  refund  whatever  they  had 
cost.  They  were  accordingly  brought  out, 
and  in  the  presence  of  the  interested 
wan  the  crowd  in  the  street — with  the  manner  of  a 
*t??ph!i0ofa  prophet  of  Israel  destroying  the  images  of 
Baal  —  he  proceeded  violently  to  tear  out 
their  tongues.  They  were  jews-harps  ! 

It  is  recorded  that  some  one  at  a  dinner- 
table  in  England  remarked  that  Landseer 
must  have  been  once  a  dog  himself,  as  he 
Landseer^    could  see  his  resemblance  to  one  ;  remark- 

resemblance    ,  ,  .  ....... 

to  a  dog.  mg  at  the  same  time  upon  the  distinguished 
painter's  arrogant  manner,  love  of  contra- 
diction, and  despotic  judgment.  I  have 
myself  remarked  the  resemblance  referred 
to  in  some  of  the  portraits  of  the  great 


A  Club  of  One  777 

man  ;  and  thought  how  natural  that  he 
should  have  painted  his  canine  friends  so 
perfectly.  Charles  Darwin's  resemblance  D 

.  likeness  to  a 

to  a  monkey  is  certainly  very  marked  :  one  monkey. 
engraving  I  have  seen  of  him  makes  him 
the  very  image  of  a  well-known  species  of 
ape.  His  long  and  peculiar  investigations 
may  have  had  the  effect  to  develop  the 
likeness  in  him,  latent  perhaps  in  us  all. 
For  three  generations  we  know  that  the 
Darwins  were  engaged  in  much  the  same 
line  of  study.  Erasmus,  the  grandfather  of 
Charles,  must  have  been  deep  in  "  species  " 
questions,  for  he  had  inscribed  upon  a  seal 
which  he  used  the  significant  words,  "om- 
nia  ex  conchis  "  —  all  from  oysters.  Per- 
haps  there  never  existed  a  more  honest  ^ 
investigator  than  Charles  Darwin,  and  it 
is  impossible  to  estimate  the  effect  of  his 
investigations  upon  society  and  thought. 
The  new  civilization  of  Japan  seems  to  a 
great  extent  to  have  accepted  his  conclu- 
sions and  teachings,  along  with  those  of 
kindred  contemporary  scientists  and  phi- 
losophers ;  and  it  is  said  that  many  of  the 
most  enlightened  of  that  strange  people 
are  interested  in  them  above  everything 
else  —  even  above  Christianity  itself. 
Whatever  men  may  think  of  Darwin's 


178  A  Club  of  One 

facts  and  philosophy,  they  must  admire  his 
industry,  his  enthusiasm,  and,  above  all, 
A  remark-  his  candor.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to 
ffcStto?  make  a  list  of  thirty-four  authors  and 
works  in  which  he  finds  his  theory  of  evo- 
lution more  or  less  distinctly  foreshadowed. 
As  to  his  conclusions,  always  so  guardedly 
expressed,  what  close  observer  has  not 
time  and  again  been  led  to  suspect  the  pos- 
sible truth  of  them  ?  Once  I  took  an  in- 
telligent monkey  by  the  hand  (extended  to 
me  at  the  request  of  the  keeper),  and  look- 
ing him  in  the  face,  I  found  it  impossible 
A  feeling  of  to  repress  a  certain  feeling  of  brotherhood. 
Its  little  palm  felt  like  the  shriveled  hand 
of  an  infant,  and  its  eyes  had  a  look  of 
comprehension  and  affinity.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  sensation  that  came  over  me  on 
the  occasion.  Important  events,  a  hundred 
of  them,  have  occurred  to  me  since  that 
time,  and  been  forgotten,  but  that  leave- 
taking  with  the  poor  performing  man-ani- 
mal is  as  fresh  as  any  event  of  yesterday. 
Hawthorne  Hawthorne,  after  observing  a  sick  monkey 
M*  *  in  the  Zoological  Gardens  in  London,  went 
home  and  wrote  in  his  note-book,  "  In  a 
future  state  of  being,  I  think  it  will  be  one 
of  my  inquiries,  in  reference  to  the  mys- 
teries of  the  present  state,  why  monkeys 


A  Club  of  One  179 

were  made.  The  Creator  could  not  surely 
have  meant  to  ridicule  his  own  work.  It 
might  rather  be  fancied  that  Satan  had 
perpetrated  monkeys,  with  a  malicious 
purpose  of  parodying  the  masterpiece  of 
creation."  Swift  must  have  been  struck 
in  some  such  way,  or  we  should  not  have 
had  the  remarkable  passage  in  Gulliver, 
relating  to  the  conduct  of  the  gigantic 
monkey  in  Brobdingnag  —  as  big  as  an  ele- 
phant —  which  seized  the  famous  traveler 
in  his  bed-room,  and  carried  him  to  the 
top  of  an  out-house,  sixty  feet  high,  where 
the  monster  was  seen  by  hundreds  in  the 
court,  sitting  upon  the  ridge  of  the  build- 
ing, holding  Gulliver  like  a  baby  in  one  of  Guiiiver  in 
his  fore-paws,  and  feeding  him  with  the 


other,  by  cramming  into  his  mouth  some 
victuals  he  had  squeezed  out  of  the  bag  on 
one  side  of  his  chaps,  and  patting  him 
when  he  would  not  eat.  Wilkie  Collins 
must  have  been  impressed  with  the  appar- 
ent close  relationship  existing  between  man 
and  monkey  or  he  could  never  have  had 
his  hero,  Count  Fosco  (a  great  creation),  Cffunt  Foscc 
do  as  he  did  with  the  organ-grinder  in  the 
story.  Fosco  stopped  at  a  pastry-cook's, 
went  in  (probably  to  give  an  order),  and 
came  out  immediately  with  a  tart  in  his 


i8o 


A  Club  of  One 


preference- 


hand.  An  Italian  was  grinding  an  organ 
before  the  shop,  and  a  miserable  little 
shriveled  monkey  was  sitting  on  the  in- 
strument. The  count  stopped,  bit  a  piece 
for  himself  out  of  the  tart,  and  gravely 
The  counts  handed  the  rest  to  the  monkey.  "  My 
poor  little  man !  "  he  said,  with  grotesque 
tenderness,  "you  look  hungry.  In  the 
sacred  name  of  humanity,  I  offer  you  some 
lunch  !  "  The  organ-grinder  piteously  put 
in  his  claim  to  a  penny  from  the  benev- 
olent stranger.  The  count  shrugged  his 
shoulders  contemptuously,  and  passed  on. 
When  Frederick  the  Great  made  short  ex- 
cursions he  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying 
Voltaire  with  him.  In  one  of  these  Vol- 
taire was  alone  in  a  post-chaise  which  fol- 
lowed the  king's  carriage.  A  young  page, 
whom  Voltaire  had  some  days  previous 
caused  to  be  severely  scolded,  resolved  to 
have  revenge ;  accordingly,  when  he  went 
before  to  cause  the  horses  to  be  prepared, 
he  told  all  the  postmasters  and  postillions 
that  the  king  had  an  old  monkey,  of  which 
he  was  so  fond,  that  he  delighted  in  dress- 
ing him  up  like  a  person  belonging  to  the 
court,  and  that  he  always  made  this  ani- 
mal accompany  him  in  his  little  excursions  ; 
that  the  monkey  cared  for  no  one  but  the 


Voltaire. 


The  king's 
monkey. 


A  Club  of  One  181 

king,  and  was  extremely  mischievous  ;  and 
that,  therefore,  if  he  attempted  to  get  out 
of  the  chaise,  they  were  to  prevent  him. 
After  receiving  this  notice,  all  the  ser- 
vants  of  the  different  post-houses,  when-  *£«/ " 
ever  Voltaire  attempted  to  get  out  of  the 
carriage,  opposed  his  exit,  and  when  he 
thrust  out  his  hand  to  open  the  carriage- 
door,  he  always  received  two  or  three  sharp 
blows  with  a  stick  upon  it,  accompanied 
with  shouts  of  laughter.  Voltaire,  who  did 
not  understand  a  word  of  German,  could 
not  demand  the  least  explanation  of  these 
singular  proceedings ;  his  fury  became  ex- 
treme, but  it  only  served  to  redouble  the 
gayety  of  the  postmasters  ;  and  a  large 
crowd  constantly  assembled  in  consequence 
of  the  page's  report,  to  see  the  king's 
monkey,  and  to  hoot  him.  Throughout 
the  journey,  things  passed  off  in  this  fash- 
ion ;  but  what  completed  the  anger  and 
vexation  of  Voltaire  was,  that  the  king 
thought  the  trick  so  pleasant,  that  he  re- 
fused to  punish  the  inventor  of  it.  This 
story  is  set  down  in  Madame  de  Genlis'  Monkeys 
Memoirs.  Monkeys  form  an  article  of food' 
food  throughout  tropical  America,  and  the 
difference  between  feeding  upon  them  and 
man-eating,  to  the  susceptible  traveler,  is 


182  A  Club  of  One 

not  very  apparent.  The  meat  is  tough, 
and  keeps  longer  than  any  other  in  that 
climate.  They  boil  it  with  unripe  papaws 
to  make  it  tender.  The  Indians  told  Gib- 
bon  that  "  the  tail  is  the  most  delicate  part 
wbea  the  hair  is  properly  singed."  In 
Japan,  monkey  meat  is  prepared  in  a  chaf- 
ing-dish with  onions  and  sweet  sauce.  A 
traveler  in  that  country  says  he  found  it 
tender,  but  almost  tasteless.  At  one  inn 
he  saw  the  freshly  severed  head  of  a  very 
large  monkey  hung  to  the  chain  supporting 
an  iron  pot  for  cooking.  It  was  ghastly, 

Painfully  grim,  and  pallid,  painfully  human  in  color 
and  expression,  and  the  dead  face  seemed 
to  change  in  the  rising  smoke.  He  had 
no  desire  to  taste  monkey  after  that.  In- 
stances of  imitativeness  in  monkeys  are 
sometimes  curiously  suggestive  of  human- 
ity. In  the  following  instance  the  conse- 
quences were  disastrous.  It  is  a  story  of 
a  monkey  brought  home  by  a  sailor  to  his 

A  household  wife.     The  animal  got  to  be  a  household 

pet. 

pet,  and  was  always  about  the  kitchen 
when  the  woman  was  at  work.  The  yard 
was  full  of  chickens,  and  every  now  and 
then  they  would  come  into  the  room  to 
pick  up  crumbs.  Whenever  they  became 
too  much  of  a  nuisance,  the  good  woman 


A  Club  of  One  183 

would  throw  a  few  grains  of  powder  in  the 
fire  to  frighten  them  out  with  the  flash. 
One  day  the  sailor's  wife  was  away,  and 
the  monkey  undertook  to  manage  the 
kitchen.  He  watched  the  chickens  very  His  conduct. 
carefully,  and  when  the  kitchen  was  pretty 
well  filled  with  them,  he  took  down  the 
powder-horn  and  threw  it  all  in  the  fire, 
blowing  himself  and  everything  sky  high. 
I  once  saw  a  swinging  monkey  in  a  zoolog- 
ical garden  who  seemed  to  consider  and 
estimate  the  angles  and  distances  with  as 
much  apparent  accuracy  and  skill  as  the 
greatest  expert  in  a  gymnasium.  He  never 
missed  his  purpose  a  single  time,  and  his 
aims  were  as  varied  as  they  were  interest- 
ing. Lord  Sandwich  trained  up  a  huge 
baboon  that  he  was  fond  of  to  play  the 
part  of  a  clergyman,  dressed  in  canonicals, 
and  make  some  buffoon  imitation  of  saying 
grace.  One  of  the  species  of  baboon  called 
the  mandrill,  was  well  known  in  London 
some  years  ago.  He  was  called  "  Happy 
Jerry."  He  was  excessively  fond  of  gin  yerry' 
and  water,  and  of  tobacco.  An  ape,  one  of 
the  gibbons,  produces  an  exact  octave  of 
musical  sounds  :  ascending  and  descending 
the  scale  by  half-notes,  so  that  this  mon- 
key "  alone  of  brute  mammals  may  be  said 


184 


A  Club  of  One 


A  minute 
tail. 


to  sing."  Various  kinds  of  monkeys  make 
laughing  or  tittering  sounds  when  pleased. 
when  much  The  face  of  one  species  at  least,  when  much 
enraged,  grows  red.  Mr.  Sutton  carefully 
observed  for  Darwin  a  young  orang  and 
chimpanzee,  and  he  found  that  both  always 
closed  their  eyes  in  sneezing  and  coughing. 
Keepers  of  monkeys  in  zoological  gardens 
say  that  a  common  disease  with  them  is 
softening  of  the  brain.  Many  of  the  pe- 
culiar diseases  of  the  females  are  the  same 
as  in  the  human  species  of  the  same  sex. 
A  writer  in  Nature  says  that  in  the  human 
skeleton  a  minute  tail  is  to  be  seen,  though 
none  is  visible  in  the  unmutilated  adult 
body.  In  the  earliest  stages  of  our  exist- 
ence, however,  there  is  for  a  short  time 
a  real  tail  of  considerable  relative  extent, 
but  in  the  development  of  the  body  it 
becomes  stationary,  so  as  rapidly  to  be- 
come altogether  overshadowed  and  hidden. 
"  Many  years  ago  (says  Darwin)  in  the  Zo- 
ological Gardens,  I  placed  a  looking-glass 
on  the  floor  before  two  young  orangs,  who, 
as  far  as  it  was  known,  had  never  before 
seen  one.  At  first  they  gazed  at  their 
own  images,  with  the  most  steady  surprise, 
and  often  changed  their  point  of  view. 
They  then  approached  close,  and  protruded 


Two  young 
orangs. 


A  Club  of  One  185 

their  lips  towards  the  image,  as  if  to  kiss 
it,  in  exactly  the  same  manner  as  they 
had  previously  done  towards  each  other, 
when  first  placed,  a  few  days  before,  in 
the  same  room.  They  next  made  all  sorts  AH  sorts  of 
of  grimaces,  and  put  themselves  in  various  grn' 
attitudes  before  the  mirror;  they  pressed 
and  rubbed  the  surface ;  they  placed  their 
hands  at  different  distances  behind  it ;  and 
finally  seemed  almost  frightened,  started 
a  little,  became  cross,  and  refused  to  look 
any  longer."  When  Dr.  Duchesne  gave  to 
a  monkey  some  new  article  of  food,  it  ele-  Eievatedit* 
vated  its  eyebrows  a  little,  thus  assuming  eyebrow5- 
an  appearance  of  close  attention.  It  then 
took  the  food  in  its  fingers,  and,  with  low- 
ered or  rectilinear  eyebrows,  scratched, 
smelt,  and  examined  it,  —  an  expression 
of  reflection  being  thus  exhibited.  Some- 
times it  would  throw  back  its  head  a  little, 
and  again  with  suddenly  raised  eyebrows 
reexamine  and  finally  taste  the  food.  But 
more  remarkable  than  all  is  the  seeming 
consciousness  of  evil,  and  apparent  instinct  instinct  of 
of  Satan,  that  these  very  human  animals, 
under  certain  circumstances,  seem  to  ex- 
hibit. Turtles  and  serpents  are  sometimes 
put  into  the  cells  of  the  poor  captives. 
They  do  not  much  care  for  the  turtles,  but 
the  snakes  are  the  very  devil. 


i86 


A  Club  of  One 


Certain  so- 
called  sci- 
ences. 


Depressed. 


As  I  walked  up  and  down  my  library 
to-day,  stopping  occasionally  to  turn  over 
musingly  some  old  well-worn  volumes,  I 
could  not  help  wondering  if  the  time  spent 
upon  certain  so-called  sciences  was  not 
about  all  lost.  Like  every  other  young 
man  of  studious  habits,  I  thought  I  must 
know  the  mind,  and  so  I  read  metaphysics. 
I  read  Locke,  until  my  brain  was  weary, 
trying  to  comprehend  his  theory  of  "in- 
nate ideas."  I  was  depressed,  —  feeling 
acutely  that  my  failure  to  comprehend  him 
was  on  account  of  my  own  mental  inabil- 
ity. I  read  Dugald  Stewart  ;  and  though 
delighted  with  his  didactic  eloquence,  I  did 
not  understand  his  system  as  I  thought  I 
should.  I  read  Sir  William  Hamilton  :  the 
result  was  the  same.  I  was  discouraged 
—  especially  with  my  own  estimate  of  my- 
self. Sometimes  I  lamented  that  I  had 
read  these  books  at  all  ;  but  never  could 
tell  why,  till,  years  after,  I  met  with  the 
judgment  of  Thomas  Carlyle,  which  per- 

^^     rested      my     uneasy     mind.         «  This 

study  of  metaphysics,  I  say,  had  only  the 
result,  after  bringing  me  rapidly  through 
different  phases  of  opinion,  at  last  to  de- 
NO  right  i>e-  liver  me  altogether  out  of  metaphysics.  I 
found  it  altogether  a  frothy  system,  no 


Carlyle. 


A  Club  of  One  187 

right  beginning  to  it,  no  right  ending.  I 
began  with  Hume  and  Diderot,  and  as 
long  as  I  was  with  them  I  ran  at  atheism, 
at  blackness,  at  materialism  of  all  kinds. 
If  I  read  Kant  I  arrived  at  precisely  op- 
posite  conclusions,  that  all  the  world  was 
spirit,  namely,  that  there  was  nothing  ma- 
terial at  all  anywhere  ;  and  the  result  was 
what  I  have  stated,  that  I  resolved  for  my 
part  on  having  nothing  more  to  do  with 
metaphysics  at  all."  I  thought,  too,  with 
all  other  studious  boys  and  young  men, 
that  I  must  become  acquainted  with  what 
Archbishop  Whately  called  "  catallactics, 
or  the  science  of  exchanges "  (political  ** 
economy).  I  read  Smith,  and  Mai  thus, 
and  Ricardo,  and  others ;  and  as  I  pro- 
gressed the  less  I  knew,  or  the  more  I 
became  lost  in  the  endless  complication  of 
conflicting  calculations  and  theories.  All 
the  time  vaguely  suspecting  —  not  having 
the  courage  or  ability  to  conclude,  with  De 
Quincey  —  that  "  nothing  could  be  postu- 
lated, nothing  demonstrated,  for  anarchy  Nothing <& 
as  to  first  principles  was  predominant." 
And  I  was  never  quite  at  ease  with  my- 
self on  the  subject  till  I  encountered  Dan- 
iel  Webster's  dictum  as  to  the  so-called 
science,  very  clearly  expressed  in  a  letter 


i88 


A  Club  of  One 


Not  a  sci- 
ence. 


Lord,  have 


Christian 
charity. 


to  a  friend :  "  For  my  part,"  says  the 
great  lawyer,  and  statesman,  and  profound 
thinker,  "  though  I  like  the  investigation 
of  particular  questions,  I  give  up  what  is 
called  the  science  of  political  economy. 
There  is  no  such  science.  There  are  no 
rules  on  these  subjects  so  fixed  and  in- 
variable that  their  aggregate  constitutes 
a  science.  I  believe  I  have  recently  run 
over  twenty  volumes,  from  Adam  Smith 
to  Professor  Dew ;  and  from  the  whole,  if 
I  were  to  pick  out  with  one  hand  all  mere 
truisms,  and  with  the  other  all  the  doubt- 
ful propositions,  little  would  be  left." 

Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me,  a  miserable 
sinner.  In  my  wretched  physical  and 
moral  state,  I  like  to  think  upon  the  pos- 
sible good  man,  as  I  find  him  outlined  in 
George  Herbert,  Goldsmith,  and  others,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  New  Testament.  I  like 
to  think  of  that  pleasant  Sunday  morn- 
ing, when  I  heard  the  good  Episcopalian, 
Dr.  Muhlenberg,  preach  a  sermon  in  Dr. 
Adams's  Presbyterian  church,  in  behalf  of  a 
Lutheran  mission.  The  theme  was  Chris- 
tian charity.  And  the  spirit  of  the  Teacher 
was  in  every  word.  Once  or  twice  he  lost 
his  place  from  (it  appeared  to  me)  pure  ex- 


A  Club  of  One  189 

altation  of  feeling  —  being  lifted  up  out  of 
himself  into  a  higher  medium.  Rapt,  trans- 
ported, for  the  moment,  his  countenance 
showed  him  to  be.  The  heaven  of  his 
hopes,  and  the  heaven  of  the  hopes  of  all, 
he  was  in  a  sense  already  enjoying.  The  °-falL 
smile  of  the  Lord  was  the  feast  of  his  soul. 
The  difficulty  of  finding  his  place  again, 
seemed  only  to  be  the  difficulty  of  readjust- 
ment. The  good  man  !  And  many  and 
many  good  men  there  are,  though  not  so 
conspicuous.  The  bigot's  calculation,  that 


nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  of  every  thou-  ca 
sand  souls  are  predestined  to  be  lost,  is  not 
the  calculation  of  the  possessor  of  a  human 
heart  which  knows  itself,  or  feels  at  all  a 
tithe  of  the  irremediable  that  lies  about  it. 
A  right-minded  man  has  some  conscious- 
ness of  human  weakness  and  of  the  difficulty 
of  the  human  lot  —  neither  of  which  exist- 
ent verities  should  for  a  moment  be  lost 
sight  of  while  considering  any  system  of 
philosophy,  government,  or  religion  espe- 
cially. Religion  is  for  men,  as  government  Religion. 
and  philosophy  are  ;  and  as  men  cannot 
violently  be  made  over,  they  must  be  taken 
as  they  exist.  Any  system  must  fail  that 
requires  the  impossible.  A  true  Christian 
Church  has  been  defined  to  be  an  associa- 


/po  A  Club  of  One 

tion  of  men  for  the  cultivation  of  knowl- 
edge, the  practice  of  piety,  and  the  promo- 
tion  of  virtue.  The  temple  of  theology  is 
ever  crumbling.  Extremes  and  nice  dis- 
tinctions in  faith  are  being  more  and  more 
forgotten  or  subordinated ;  and  while  a 
common  basis  is  being  discovered,  it  is  felt 
to  be  wise  by  the  sects  to  "  press  differ- 
ences tenderly.  Religion  is  too  essential 
to  cling  to  any  dogma."  It  is  the  amalgam 

Christian-  of  Christianity  that  is  destined  to  fuse  the 
churches.  The  elements  are  slowly  prepar- 
ing, to  be  inevitably  compounded.  There 
are  encouraging  signs.  A  recent  traveler 
in  Europe  speaks  of  visiting  an  immense 
brown  church  in  Heidelberg,  with  imposing 
steeple,  and  statues  in  the  niches  on  the 
walls,  which  he  supposed  to  be  a  Catholic 
cathedral.  On  entering  he  observed  that 
it  was  divided  in  two  parts  by  a  wall  in  the 
centre,  and  discovered  that  one  end  of  the 
church  was  Catholic,  and  the  other  end 
Lutheran,  both  worshiping  under  one  roof. 

imagine  a  i  Imagine  an  American  village  of  five  thou- 
sand souls,  with  a  dozen  or  more  sects  of 
Christians,  all  worshiping  together  in  one 
temple.  How  soon  the  different  sects  would 
become  ashamed  of  their  petty  differences, 
and  what  a  power  such  a  compound  organ- 


A  Club  of  One  191 

ization  would  become.  It  would  soon  be 
an  influence  from  the  centre  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth.  As  it  is,  the  different  sects  — 
all  claiming  a  common  purpose  —  find  it 
impossible  to  hold  a  few  meetings  together 
without  bickering.  How  the  devil  laughs  The  devil 
at  all  such  proceedings,  and  rejoices  at  aus 
every  new  device  to  divide  his  enemies. 
Whenever  in  any  religious  faith,  dark  or 
bright  (says  a  recent  writer),  we  allow  our 
minds  to  dwell  upon  the  points  in  which 
we  differ  from  other  people,  we  are  wrong, 
and  in  the  devil's  power.  This  is  the  es- 
sence of  the  Pharisee's  thanksgiving —  Tke  Phari. 
"  Lord,  I  thank  thee  that  I  am  not  as  other  %fv* 
men  are."  At  every  moment  of  our  lives 
we  should  be  trying  to  find  out,  not  in  what 
we  differ  with  other  people,  but  in  what  we 
agree  with  them  ;  and  the  moment  we  can 
agree  as  to  anything  that  should  be  done, 
kind  or  good  (and  who  but  fools  could  n't  ?) 
then  do  it ;  push  at  it  together  ;  you  can't 
quarrel  in  a  side-by-side  push  ;  but  the  mo- 
ment that  even  the  best  men  stop  pushing, 
and  begin  talking,  they  mistake  their  pug- 
nacity  for  piety,  and  it 's  all  over.  Chris- 
tianity,  said  Warburton  to  Spence,  seems 
to  have  received  more  hurt  from  its  friends 
than  its  enemies.  By  their  making  things 


A  Club  of  One 

part  of  it,  which  are  not  so  ;  or  talking  of 
things  as  very  material  to  it,  which  are 
very  little  so.  The  sects  discuss  one  an- 
other  somewhat  as  they  use  whetstones, 
Coleridge  said,  to  sharpen  their  moral  dis- 
crimination and  consciences.  But  the  bat- 
tle-cries of  Sobieski  and  Ibrahim  are  not 
for  this  day.  All  the  world  knows  with 
Swift,  that  you  may  force  men,  by  interest 
or  punishment,  to  say  or  swear  they  be- 
lieve, and  to  act  as  if  they  believed :  you 
can  go  no  further.  Beliefs,  therefore,  are 
less  and  less  regarded,  in  comparison  with 
Christianity  itself.  Men,  it  has  been  said, 

special?*-  rnay  be  tattooed  with  their  special  beliefs 
like  so  many  South-Sea  Islanders;  but  a 
real  human  heart  with  Divine  love  in  it, 
beats  with  the  same  glow  under  all  the  pat- 
terns of  all  earth's  thousand  tribes.  "  'T  is 
not  the  dying  for  a  faith  that 's  so  hard, 
Master  Harry,"  said  the  trooper  [Dick 
Steele],  "  't  is  the  living  up  to  it  that  is  dif- 
ficult." Ah  !  what  mighty  intellects  have 
been  employed  in  the  world  to  divide  it,  in 
matters  of  religious  faith,  and  what  multi- 
tudes of  lives  have  been  sacrificed  to  keep 

Gloomy  the-  it  divided  !  When  the  gloomy  and  awful 
theologies  become  curiosities,  how  prodig- 
ious will  the  intellects  of  their  inventors 


A  Club  of  One 

appear !  Robert  Hall  pronounced  Jona- 
than Edwards  the  greatest  of  the  sons  of 
men.  "That  he  was  a  man  of  extraor- 
dinary endowments  (remarks  Dr.  Holmes, 
in  his  defense  of  the  doctors  against  the 
clergy)  and  of  deep  spiritual  nature,  was  not 
questioned,  nor  that  he  was  a  most  acute 
reasoner  who  could  unfold  a  proposition 
into  its  consequences  as  patiently,  as  con- 
vincingly, as  a  palaeontologist  extorts  its 
confession  from  a  fossil  fragment.  But  it 
was  maintained  that  so  many  dehumaniz- 
ing ideas  were  mixed  up  with  his  concep- 
tions of  man,  and  so  many  diabolizing  at- 
tributes  embodied  in  his  imagination  of  attributes' 
the  Deity,  that  his  system  of  beliefs  was 
tainted  throughout  by  them,  and  that  the 
fact  of  his  being  so  remarkable  a  logician 
recoiled  on  the  premises  which  pointed  his 
inexorable  syllogisms  to  such  revolting 
conclusions.  When  he  presents  us  a  God, 
in  whose  sight  children,  with  certain  not 
too  frequent  exceptions, '  are  young  vipers, 
and  are  infinitely  more  hateful  than  vi- 
pers ';  when  he  gives  the  most  frightful 
detailed  description  of  infinite  and  endless 
tortures  which  it  drives  men  and  women 
mad  to  think  of,  prepared  for  '  the  bulk  of 
mankind  ';  when  he  cruelly  pictures  a  fu- 


°f 

ture  in  which  parents  are  to  sing  hallelu- 
jahs of  praise  as  they  see  their  children 
driven  into  the  furnace,  where  they  are  to 
lie  '  roasting '  forever,  —  we  have  a  right  to 
say  that  the  man  who  held  such  beliefs  and 
indulged  in  such  imaginations  and  expres- 

A  burden,  sions,  is  a  burden  and  not  a  support  in  refer- 
ence to  the  creed  with  which  his  name  is 
associated.  What  heathenism  has  ever  ap- 
proached the  horrors  of  this  conception  of 
human  destiny  ?  It  is  not  an  abuse  of  lan- 
guage to  apply  to  such  a  system  of  beliefs 

ptZ^Sm.  the  name  of  Christian  pessimism."  It  has 
been  said  that  if  the  Christian  apostles,  St. 
Peter  and  St.  Paul,  could  return  to  Rome 
they  might  perchance  inquire  the  name 
of  the  Deity  who  is  worshiped  with  such 
mysterious  rites  in  its  magnificent  temple: 
at  Oxford  or  Geneva  they  would  experience 
less  surprise  ;  but  it  might  still  be  incum- 
bent on  them  to  peruse  the  catechism  of 
the  church,  and  to  study  the  orthodox  com- 
mentators on  their  own  writings  and  the 

words  of  words  of  their  Master.  It  certainly  would 
appear  to  them  that  the  sects  had  departed 
far  away  from  the  teachings  and  example 
of  the  Founder,  and  that  love  to  God  and 
love  for  man  were  in  danger  of  being  buried 
forever  under  the  rubbish  of  dogmas  and 


A  Club  of  One  195 

symbols.  At  the  same  time  it  would  ap- 
pear very  evident  to  them  that  materialism 
was  speciously  deified,  and  that  mammon  in 
all  its  forms  was  exalted,  if  not  worshiped. 
It  was  only  the  other  day  that  I  happened 

to  be  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  wit-  A  signifi- 
cant scene. 

nessed,  at  the  corner  of  the  street  opposite, 
the  meeting  of  a  priest  and  a  poor  working- 
man  of  his  church.  The  uncovered  head 
of  the  poor  man  immediately  and  obeisantly 
went  down  in  reverence  —  half-way  to  the 
pavement;  while  the  priest  made  no  move- 
ment, nor  gave  the  slightest  sign  of  recog- 
nition. The  priest  and  the  one  rich  man  The  priest 

e    .   .  ..  .  and  the  rich 

of  his  congregation  next  met,  an  instant  man. 
after,  near  the  same  spot.     The  scene  was 
significantly  changed.     The   rich  man  in 
this  instance  gave  no  sign  of  recognition 
that  could  be  perceived  ;  the  priest  it  was 

—  the  recognized  priest  of  the  Most  High 

—  that  bowed  down  abjectly  to  Mammon. 

No  man  ever  existed,  I  suppose,  who  did 
not  regret  the  acquaintance  and  association 
of  certain  persons,  on  account  of  their  par- 
ticular bad  influence  over  him.  The  evils 
that  men  suffer  and  inflict  are  so  often  di- 
rectly traceable  to  the  influence  and  exam- 

i  .  n  Evilcom- 

ple  of  evil  communications,  that  reflective 


796  A  Club  of  One 

persons  find  it  difficult  to  separate  them. 
One  remarkable  man  it  was  my  ill-fortune 
to  know  intimately  for  a  time  in  my  early 
life,  of  whom  I  am  constantly  reminded  in 
all  my  evil  thoughts  and  short-comings. 
His  unusual  ability  and  nature  made  him 
a  very  dangerous  acquaintance.  There 
was  so  much  subtile  penetration  in  his  dis- 
paraging  observation,  and  so  much  genius 
in  his  malice,  that  he  was  fascinating  per- 
force. For  forty  years  I  have  been  trying 
to  rid  myself  of  the  effects  of  a  few  months' 
association  with  him,  and  for  forty  years 
regretting  that  I  ever  met  him.  The  con- 
siderable distinction  he  afterwards  attained 
did  not  much  modify  his  character;  so  that 
often  aston-  I  have  often  been  astonished  that  he  died 
in  his  bed  a  natural  death  —  that  some- 
body did  n't  kill  him,  or  that  he  did  n't  kill 
himself.  I  have  wondered,  too,  that,  as 
he  was  always  secreting  venom,  he  did  not 
die  of  an  excess  of  it.  In  Brazil,  an  opin- 
ion prevails  that  whoever  has  been  bitten 
by  a  boa-constrictor  has  nothing  to  fear 
from  any  other  reptile.  Adapting  the  lan- 
guage of  Sydney  Smith  applied  to  O'Con- 
nell  —  What  a  happy  condition  that  of  the 
man  who  had  suffered  abuse  from  my  ven- 
omous acquaintance.  It  did  not  enter  into 


A  Club  of  One  797 

the  head  of  Goethe  that  the  publication  of 
Werther  would  be  followed  by  an  epidemic 
of  suicide.  It  would  have  surprised  Dick-  suicide* 
ens  to  learn  that  a  copy  of  Martin  Chuzzle- 
wit,  open  at  the  chapter  describing  the 
suicide  of  Jonas  Chuzzlewit,  was  found  by 
the  side  of  a  man  who  committed  suicide 
in  New  York.  Evil  influence,  like  the 
"damned  spot,"  will  not  "out."  In  a  cor- 
ner of  the  Black  Museum  in  London  hang 
the  clothes  of  a  clergyman  who  murdered 
his  wife  some  years  ago.  So  carefully  had 
the  murderer  washed  his  trousers  and  his 
coat-sleeves,  that  the  blood-stain^  could  Biood~staitu. 
only  be  discerned  with  difficulty  at  the 
time  of  the  investigation.  But  since  the 
coat  and  trousers  have  been  hanging  on 
the  Black  Museum's  walls,  the  stains  have 
come  out  close  and  thick.  "We  many 
times  notice  that  here,"  the  visitor  is  told. 
It  deserves  to  be  noticed  (says  Hawthorne, 
in  his  English  Note-Books)  that  some  small 
figures  of  Indian  Thugs,  represented  as  en-  Indian 
gaged  in  their  profession  and  handiwork  Tkus*' 
of  cajoling  and  strangling  travelers,  have 
been  removed  from  the  place  which  they 
formerly  occupied  in  the  part  of  the  Brit- 
ish Museum  shown  to  the  general  public. 
They  are  now  in  the  more  private  room, 


198  A  Club  of  One 

and  the  reason  of  their  withdrawal  is,  that, 
according  to  the  chaplain  of  Newgate,  the 
practice  of  garroting  was  suggested  to  the 
English  thieves  by  this  representation  of 
Indian  Thugs.  Said  James  T.  Fields  in 
a  lecture  on  Fiction  in  Brooklyn,  "  I  re- 
cently  paid  a  visit  to  the  Pomeroy  boy, 
who  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  for  killing 
three  children,  but  whose  sentence  was 
afterward  commuted  to  imprisonment  for 
life.  I  asked  him  if  he  read  much.  He 
said  that  he  did.  '  What  kind  of  books  do 
you  read  ? '  said  I.  *  Mostly  one  kind,'  he 

Dime  novels,  said  — '  mostly  dime  novels.'  '  What  is  the 
best  book  you  have  read  ? '  I  asked.  '  Well, 
I  liked  Buffalo  Bill  best/  he  replied.  '  It 
was  full  of  murders,  and  pictures  about 
murders.'  *  Well,'  I  asked,  'how  did  you 
feel  after  reading  such  a  book  ? '  '  Oh,' 
said  he,  '  I  felt  as  if  I  wanted  to  do  the 
same.' '  Another  remarkable  instance  of 
the  direct  influence  of  bad  literature  upon 
boys,  I  remember  to  have  seen  referred 
to  authentically  in  a  Western  newspaper. 

Murdered  The  bodies  of  three  murdered  women  were 
discovered  in  a  house  in  a  village.  They 
were  considerably  decomposed  —  lime  hav- 
ing been  sprinkled  over  them  ;  and  dime 
novels  of  the  most  objectionable  character 


women. 


A  Club  of  One  199 

were  found  in  the  room,  which  had  to  all 
appearance  been  read  by  the  murderer  af- 
ter the  murders  had  been  committed.  The 
suspected  murderer  was  a  son  of  one  of 
the  murdered  women,  and  committed  sui- 
cide soon  after  the  crime  was  discovered. 
It  was  proven,  at  least,  that  he  had  bor- 
rowed the  novels.  He  was  but  eighteen 
years  old. 

Sin  and  bile,  in  the  judgment  of  the  ex-  sin 
cellent  Hannah  More,  are  the  two  bad 
things  in  this  world.  As  to  the  unmiti- 
gated badness  of  the  latter,  my  sufferings 
for  the  last  few  days  fully  attest.  My 
whole  system  is  inundated  by  it,  and  my 
complexion  is  a  miserable  yellow.  My  doc- 
tor talks  wisely  about  it,  but  does  not  re- 
lieve me.  My  mind,  too,  is  affected  by  it, 
and  I  find  it  very  difficult  indeed  to  think 
clearly  or  healthfully.  Ah  !  exclaimed  an 
intellectual  giant  —  suffering  as  I  suffer 
from  this  distressing  malady  —  what  a  dis- 
mal, debasing,  and  confusing  element  is 
that  of  a  sick  body  on  the  human  soul  or  A  sick  body 
thinking  part !  But  for  the  counteracting 
influence  of  my  good  books,  I  know  not 
what  I  should  do.  On  the  front  of  the  first 
national  library  founded  in  Egypt  was  en- 


2oo  A  Club  of  One 

graved,  "The  medicine  of  the  mind."  The 
body,  however,  is  often  a  despot,  and  the 
thinking  part  is  in  such  subserviency  that 
it  can  only  very  feebly  exert  itself.  In  all 
countries,  says  Leigh  Hunt,  the  devil  (to 
speak  after  the  received  theory  of  good 
and  ill)  seems  to  provide  for  a  due  dimi- 
nution of  health  and  happiness  by  some- 
thing in  the  way  of  meat  and  drink.  The 
northern  nations  exasperate  their  bile  with 
beer,  the  southern  with  oil,  and  all  with 
butter  and  pastry.  I  would  swear  that 
Dante  was  a  great  eater  of  "  fries."  Poor 
Buttered  Lord  Castlereagh  had  had  his  buttered 
toast  served  up  for  breakfast  the  day  he 
killed  himself.  The  opinion  of  a  book,  it 
has  often  been  remarked,  depends  very 
much  on  the  state  of  the  liver.  It  has 
even  been  suggested  that  some  charitable 
reformer  may  have  been  sagacious  enough 
to  discover  a  way  to  fuse  sects  and  harmo- 
nize Christians,  but  that  the  liver  of  the 
book -taster  consigned  the  desideratum, 
Therespon-  above  every  other,  to  oblivion.  The  respon- 
Sfrinler°s.  sibility  of  printers  !  A  very  eminent  phy- 
sician firmly  believed  that  he  had  more 
than  once  changed  the  moral  character  of 
a  boy  by  leeches  to  the  inside  of  the  nose. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  mind  affects  the 


A  Club  of  One  201 

body  as  directly,  and  sometimes  very  curi- 
ously. George  Eliot  wrote  to  one  of  her 
friends,  "  If  you  were  to  feel  my  bump  of 
acquisitiveness,  I  dare  say  you  would  find 
it  in  a  state  of  inflammation,  like  the  '  ven- 
eration' of  that  clergyman  to  whom  the 
phrenologist  said,  '  Sir,  you  have  recently  Religion 

,    .  •  ,.        T  T»       i      -i       and  science. 

been  engaged  in  prayer.  Jean  Paul  ob- 
served that  the  stomach  of  the  butterfly 
shrinks  up  when  his  wings  are  spread.  Sin 
and  bile  !  Bile  and  sin  !  It  has  been  said, 
by  a  profound  student  of  human  nature, 
that  when  an  elevated  mind  looks  into  the 
abyss  of  evil  beyond  a  certain  depth,  it  is  The  abyss  of 
seized  with  a  vertigo,  and  can  no  longer  n 
distinguish  anything.  In  the  Crystal  Pal- 
ace, Hawthorne  saw  nothing  in  the  sculp- 
tural way,  either  modern  or  antique,  that 
impressed  him  so  much  as  a  statue  of  a 
nude  mother  by  a  French  artist.  In  a  sit- 
ting posture,  with  one  knee  over  the  other, 
she  was  clasping  her  highest  knee  with 
both  hands  ;  and  in  the  hollow  cradle  thus 
formed  by  her  arms  lay  two  sweet  little  TWO  sweet 

.      .  .  *  1111  •£  Mtle  babies. 

babies,  as  snug  and  close  to  her  heart  as  if 
they  had  not  yet  been  born,  —  two  little 
love  blossoms,  —  and  the  mother  encir- 
cling and  pervading  them  with  love.  But 
an  infinite  pathos  and  strange  terror  were 


202  A  Club  of  One 

given  to  this  beautiful  group  by  some  faint 
bas-reliefs  on  the  pedestal,  indicating  that 
Cain  and  the  happy  mother  was  Eve,  and  Cain  and 
Abel  the  two  innocent  babes.  Cain  and 
Abel !  Abel  and  Cain  !  Alas  !  There  is, 
says  a  writer  upon  mental  disease,  a  des- 
tiny made  for  a  man  by  his  ancestors ;  and 
no  one  can  elude,  were  he  able  to  attempt 
it,  the  tyranny  of  his  organization.  The 
power  of  hereditary  influence  in  determin- 
ing an  individual's  nature,  which,  when 
plainly  stated,  must  needs  appear  a  tru- 
ism, has  been  more  or  less  distinctly  recog- 
nized  in  all  ages.  Solomon  proclaimed  it 
to  ke  the  Speciai  merit  of  a  good  man  that 
he  leaves  an  inheritance  to  his  children's 
children  ;  on  the  other  hand  it  has  been 
declared  that  the  sins  of  the  father  shall  be 
visited  upon  the  children  unto  the  third 
and  fourth  generations.  It  was  a  proverb 
in  Israel  that  when  the  fathers  have  eaten 
sour  grapes  the  children's  teeth  are  set  on 
edge ;  and  it  was  deemed  no  marvel  that 
those  whose  fathers  had  stoned  the  proph- 
ets should  reject  Him  who  was  sent  unto 
them  —  "  Ye  are  the  children  of  those  who 
stoned  the  prophets."  Complaint  having 
Caligula's  been  made  to  Caligula  that  his  daughter, 
daughter.  ^WQ  vears  o^  scratched  the  little  children 


A  Club  of  One  20  j 

who  were  her  play-fellows,  and  even  tried 
to  tear  out  their  eyes,  he  replied,  with  a 
laugh,  "  I  see  ;  she  is  my  daughter."  Ri- 
bot  speaks  of  a  native  New  Zealander,  in- 
telligent and  curious,  connected  with  the 
chief  families  of  his  country,  who  accom- 
panied an  English  traveler  to  London  for 
education,  but  owing  to  the  imperfect  de-  Education 
velopment  of  his  mind  he  could  under-  VSm  ******* 
stand  nothing  of  European  civilization,  and 
interpreted  everything  according  to  the 
notions  of  a  savage.  Thus,  when  a  rich 
man  passed,  he  would  say,  "  That  man  has 
a  good  deal  to  eat,"  unable  to  understand 
wealth  in  any  other  way.  The  missionary 
societies  sometimes  adopt  Chinese  infants  Chinese  i*. 
and  have  them  educated  in  European  insti-  fan 
tutions  at  great  expense ;  they  go  back  to 
their  own  country  with  the  resolve  to  prop- 
agate the  Christian  religion,  but  scarcely 
have  they  disembarked  when  the  spirit  of 
their  race  seizes  upon  them  ;  they  forget 
their  promises,  and  lose  all  their  Christian 
beliefs.  It  might  be  supposed  that  they 
had  never  left  China.  The  fact  itself  (says 
Mill,  in  his  great  little  book  On  Liberty), 
of  causing  the  existence  of  a  human  being, 
is  one  of  the  most  responsible  actions  in  £ 
the  range  of  human  life.  To  undertake 


204  A  Club  of  One 

this  responsibility  —  to  bestow  a  life  which 
may  be  either  a  curse  or  a  blessing  —  un- 
less the  being  on  whom  it  is  to  be  bestowed 
will  have  at  least  the  ordinary  chances  of 
a  desirable  existence,  is  a  crime  against 
that  being.  Especially,  another  has  re- 
marked,  no  one  who  transmits  defects  of 
his  or  her  own,  whether  physical  or  moral, 
can  help  feeling  that  he  has  wronged  the 
child  in  handing  them  down  to  it.  The 
compunction  must  be  particularly  painful 
when  the  defect  is  moral.  When  a  father 
in  his  son,  or  a  mother  in  her  daughter, 
Perversities  sees  weaknesses  and  perversities  outcrop- 
•cro&ng.  pmg  Wj1jcj1  they  cieariy  recognize  as  old 

personal  property,  they  must  doubt  whether 
they  are  the  persons  who  should  punish 
the  young  offenders ;  and  it  is  not  difficult 
to  fancy  that  children,  by  some  dim  kind 
of  instinct,  partially  discover  the  injustice 
of  being  scolded  for  teeth  set  on  edge  by 
the  very  people  who  have  eaten  the  sour 
Grievous  in-  grapes.  It  seemed  grievous  indeed  to 
Charlotte  Bronte"  that  those  who  have  not 
sinned  should  suffer  so  largely. 

I  have  been  thinking  how  very  remark- 
able is  the  thoroughly  enlightened,  culti- 
vated man  of  this  age  of  the  world :  he  is 


A  Club  of  One  205 

a  marvel.  Open  and  receptive  to  every  A 
suggestion  and  influence,  every  thing  has 
taught  him,  as  every  thing  is  constantly 
teaching  him.  Intelligence  is  in  the  air, 
and  flies  on  the  wings  of  the  wind.  It  is 
not  possible  for  him  to  avoid  breathing 
and  absorbing  it.  There  is  a  character  in  A  character 
Dickens,  or  somewhere  in  fiction,  whose  lnDlckens- 
occupation  was  in  the  wine-cellar  amongst 
the  butts  and  pipes  ;  he  never  drank  any- 
thing, but  he  was  always  comfortable  by 
absorption.  So  it  is  at  this  day  with  an 
open,  healthy  nature ;  it  has  but  to  open 
its  eyes  and  ears  and  pores  (so  to  speak) 
to  be  enlightened.  What  we  call  study  is  study  not  as 
not  so  necessary  to  intelligence  as  once. 
Every  thing  is  an  object-lesson,  and  teaches 
irresistibly.  The  results  of  genius  and 
skill  are  everywhere,  and  they  have  been 
so  intelligently  worked  out  that  they  tell 
the  processes  of  development.  Machines 
are  so  much  like  the  men  they  compete 
with  and  so  often  eclipse  that  they  com- 
municate. Printed  pages  are  to  be  had  for 
the  picking  up.  Science  opens  its  doors 
gratuitously.  Art  everywhere  adorns  and  Art^adoms 
instructs.  A  good  brain  cooperating  with 
a  good  heart,  with  all  opportunities  and 
facilities  at  every  turn,  must  develop  good 


206  A  Club  of  One 

character  and  sovereign  enlightenment. 
The  possible  man,  of  full  growth,  under 
such  encouraging  and  stimulating  circum- 
stances, is  pleasant  to  contemplate.  On  an 
island  in  the  sea,  one  bright  Sunday  morn- 
A  good rep-  ing,  not  many  years  ago,  I  met  a  good 

resentative 

specimen,  representative  specimen  of  high  manhood, 
which  sometimes  appears  to  my  memory, 
filling  it  full,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
beside.  It  was  after  breakfast  that  I  had 

A  favorite  sauntered  down  to  my  favorite  rock,  where 
I  delighted  to  lounge  when  the  weather 
was  favorable.  It  sloped  gently  to  the 
west,  and  was  sheltered  from  the  morning 
sun  by  the  ledge  behind.  It  overlooked  a 

Thediminu-  diminutive   bay    (the   size   of   this   library 

tivebay.  i   •    i  ,  .       ,       ,       . 

room),  which  was  always  particularly  inter- 
esting to  me  at  low  tide.  At  such  times 
the  kelp  lay  exposed,  and  specimens  of 
star-fish  and  sea-urchins  were  sometimes 
visible.  The  puff  of  the  locomotive  was 
seen  but  not  heard  ten  miles  away,  on 
the  mainland.  In  favorable  atmospheres  I 
thought  I  could  discern  Mt.  Washington, 
defining  itself  as  a  cloud  in  the  distance. 
It  was  an  interesting  spot  to  dream  at,  as 
it  is  an  interesting  spot  to  dream  of.  I 
A  gentleman  found  my  rock  occupied,  by  a  gentleman 
in  gray  —  say  of  fifty  years  of  age ;  but 


A  Club  of  One  207 

there  was  room  enough  for  two,  he  in- 
sisted, and  moved  over.  I  had  never  seen 
him  before  ;  but  his  manner  and  atmos- 
phere of  gentility  and  good-breeding  were 
assuring,  and  I  sat  down.  Something  was 
said  of  the  morning,  or  the  tide,  or  a  pass- 
ing sail.  The  little  bay,  that  he  had  just  The  little 
discovered,  seemed  as  interesting  to  him 
as  it  was  to  me.  Its  situation  and  accesso- 
ries were  referred  to  in  a  compendious  sen- 
tence or  two,  that  denoted  his  full  compre- 
hension of  them.  His  observations  upon 
the  rock  formations  visible,  showed  him 


familiar  with  the  theories  and  conclusions  tl 
of  geology.     His  reference  to  a  sea-urchin 
had  the  observation  and  intelligence  of  a 
naturalist  in  it.    He  called  particular  atten- 
tion to  a  long  serpentine  line  of  kelp,  and  Kelp. 
in  a  few  sentences   gave  me  an  amount 
of  information  of  the  remarkable  sea-weed 
that  I  have  never  wholly  forgotten.     How 
it  grows  in  lower  latitudes  on  every  rock 
from  low  water  mark  to  a  great  depth,  both 
on  the  outer  coast  and  within  the  chan- 
nels ;  how  every  rock  near  the  surface  is 
buoyed  by  this  floating  weed,  —  thus  af- 
fording good  service  to  vessels  navigating  of  service  to 
near  the  stormy  land,  and  saving  many  a  w 
one  from  being  wrecked.     Three  hundred 


208 


A  Club  of  One 


Creatures 
that  would 
ferish. 


and  sixty  feet  is  the  length  it  had  been 
known  to  attain.  He  compared  the  great 
aquatic  forests  of  the  southern  hemisphere 
with  the  terrestrial  ones  in  the  intertrop- 
ical  regions,  and  said  that  if  in  any  country 
a  forest  was  destroyed,  he  believed  not 
nearly  so  many  species  of  animals  would 

Effects  of  its  perish  as  in  the  former,  from  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  kelp.  Amidst  the  leaves  of 
this  plant  numerous  species  of  fish  live, 
which  nowhere  else  could  find  food  or  shel- 
ter ;  with  their  destruction  the  many  cor- 
morants and  other  fishing-birds,  the  otters, 
seals,  and  porpoises,  would  soon  perish 
also  ;  and  the.  Fuegian  savage,  the  misera- 
ble lord  of  that  miserable  land,  would  re- 
double his  cannibal  feast,  decrease  in  num- 
bers, and  perhaps  cease  to  exist.  From 
considering  the  remarkable  plant  of  the 
sea,  and  discoursing  upon  it,  he  naturally 
passed,  in  contrast,  to  the  ship  of  the  des- 
ert. Alive  or  dead,  his  information  was, 

The  camel,  that  almost  every  part  of  the  camel  is  ser- 
viceable to  man  :  her  milk  is  plentiful  and 
nutritious  ;  the  young  and  tender  flesh  has 
the  taste  of  veal ;  a  valuable  salt  is  ex- 
tracted from  the  urine  ;  dung  supplies  the 
deficiency  of  fuel ;  and  the  long  hair,  which 
falls  each  year  and  is  renewed,  is  coarsely 


A  Club  of  One  209 

manufactured  into  the  garments,  the  furni- 
ture, and  the  tents  of  the  Bedouins.  It 
struck  him,  as  it  strikes  the  traveler,  as 
something  extremely  romantic  and  myste- 
rious, the  noiseless  step  of  the  camel,  from  m*  noise* 
the  spongy  nature  of  his  foot ;  whatever  be  -• 
the  substance  of  the  ground  —  sand,  or  rock, 
or  turf,  or  loose  stones  —  you  hear  no  foot- 
fall ;  you  see  an  immense  animal  approach- 
ing you,  stilly  as  a  cloud  floating  on  air ; 
and,  unless  he  wears  a  bell,  your  sense  of 
hearing,  acute  as  it  may  be,  will  give  you 
no  intimation  of  his  presence.  The  Arabs, 
he  said,  could  live  five  days  without  vict- 
uals, and  subsist  for  three  weeks  on  noth- 
ing else  but  the  blood  of  their  camels,  who  His  blood. 
could  lose  so  much  of  it  as  would  suffice 
for  that  time,  without  being  exhausted. 
Thence  the  interesting  man  passed  in  the 
same  intelligent  way  to  the  populations  of 
the  East  —  to  the  effects  of  commerce  and 
Western  ideas  upon  China  and  Japan ;  to 
the  opening  of  Africa,  the  wonderful  dis- 
coveries there,  and  their  probable  influ- 
ence upon  European  trade  and  emigration. 
Thence  to  the  adaptation  of  governments  Adaptatio 
to  the  new  growth  of  nations.  How  all 
the  religions  were  perceptibly  changing  in 
a  similar  manner.  Noting,  as  he  passed, 


2i  o  A  Club  of  One 

some  of  the  effects  of  the  rushing  progres- 
sion upon  the  habits  and  dispositions  of 
men  —  increased  restlessness,  growing  ma- 
terialism, and  apparent  diminution  of  faith 
being  of  the  few  results  suggestively  re- 
ferred  to.  His  acute  and  comprehensive 

comprehen-  ,   .  .. 

sive.  view  —  his  easy  passage  from  one  remote 

part  of  the  world  to  another  —  reminded 
me  of  a  sermon  I  had  lately  heard  preached 
by  Dr.  Hitchcock  —  certainly  one  of  the 
most  vigorous  pulpit  thinkers  in  the  world 

The  whole    — m   which   the   whole   round   earth   was 

r™tfoeye!h  made  to  appear  apart  to  the  hearer's  eye ; 
he  turned  it  about  as  a  teacher  turns  his 
revolving  globe,  and  pointed  to  spots  here 
and  there,  dimly  or  conspicuously  lighted 
by  Christianity  and  Christian  civilization 
—  all  with  so  much  freedom,  simplicity, 
and  intelligence,  that  it  hardly  occurred  to 
me  to  guess,  much  less  to  conceive  the 
prodigious  diligence  and  exhausting  study 
that  had  been  necessary  to  the  presenta- 
tion of  the  subject  so  comprehensively,  so 
easily,  and  so  naturally.  This  many-sided, 

A  cosmopoii-  cosmopolitan  man,  on  my  rock,  talked  of 
finance,  but  not  of  the  machinery  of  the 
banker's  office  ;  of  commerce,  but  not  of 
lines  of  railway  or  steamships  ;  of  govern- 
ment, but  not  of  office-holders  or  of  office- 


A  Club  of  One  211 

holding  ;  of  polity,  not  politics  ;  of  religion, 
not  churches.     I  could  not  have  guessed, 
at  the  end  of  his  conversation,  in  what  part 
of  the  world  he  lived  ;  with  what  political 
party,  if  any,  he  acted  ;  with  what  denomi- 
nation he  worshiped  ;  in  what  occupation 
he  had  made  his  money.     He  had  asked  He  asked™ 
no  questions,  nor  anticipated  any.     In  all  ^r^td- 
that  he  had  said,  there  was  no  show  of  **. 
vanity,  bigotry,  intolerance,  dogmatism,  or 
aggressiveness.     He  had  talked  and  I  had 
listened.     There  was  that  in  his  manner 
which  said,  It  happens  so  ;  next  time  a  re- 
verse ;  you  will  talk  and  I  will  listen.    The 
bell  at  the  hotel  called  us  to  a  late  dinner. 
At  the  table,  a  glass  of  wine  was  brought  A  glass  of 
to  me  by  a  servant  from  another  part  of  w 
the  dining-hall,  with  the  name  and  compli- 
ments of  my  companion  of  the  morning.    I 
returned  my  own  name,  of  course,  with  the 
usual   acknowledgment.     After  dinner  he 
came  to  me  as  if  he  had  known  me  always, 
extending   his  hand,    and    calling   me   by 
name  —  saying,  that  he  wished  to  present 
me  to  his  wife.     With   the   accomplished  His  wife. 
lady  I  walked  up  and  down  the  piazza  for 
a  few  minutes,  when  my  acquaintance  (it 
seemed  to  me  for  ages  in  another  state  of 
being)  made  his  appearance  again,  regret- 


212  A  Club  of  One 

ting  to  take  leave,  as  they  were  to  embark 
in  an  hour  for  New  York,  to  sail  thence  by 
Wednesday's  steamer  for  Europe.  I  have 
never  seen  or  heard  of  the  remarkable  man 
since  ;  yet  he  made  such  an  impression 
upon  me,  and  I  remember  him  so  distinctly, 
that  I  cannot  help  setting  him  down  as 
a  specimen  of  the  thoroughly  enlightened 
and  cultivated  man  referred  to  in  the  be- 
ginning. 


The  business  The  business  of  reforming  —  re-forming 
°ine*  °*  —  making  over  —  how  interesting  !  An 
occupation  for  saints,  philosophers,  and 
heroes.  The  instinct  to  unmake  and  re- 
make is  very  prevalent,  and  develops  early. 
Only  now  and  then  a  man  is  found  who  is 
not  a  born  reformer.  Himself  perfect,  the 
reformer  would  have  everybody  like  him- 
self. If  a  hundred  persons  were  stopped 
at  haphazard  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  says 
Dumont,  and  a  proposal  were  made  to 
them  to  take  charge  of  the  Government, 
Ninety-nine  ninety-nine  would  accept  it.  Mirabeau  ac- 

of  'one  hun-  1,1  r  i 

dred.  cepted  the  post  of  reporter  to  the  com- 
mittee on  mines  without  having  the  slight- 
est tincture  of  knowledge  on  the  subject. 
Men  enter  upon  politics  like  the  gentle- 
man who,  on  being  asked  if  he  knew  how 


A  Club  of  One  213 

to  play  the  harpsichord,  replied,  "  I  cannot 
tell,  I  never  tried,  but  I  will  see."  Socrates 
used  to  say,  that  although  no  man  under- 
takes a  trade  he  has  not  learned,  even  the 
meanest,  yet  every  one  thinks  himself  suffi-  Every  man 
ciently  qualified  for  the  hardest  of  all  trades,  * 
that  of  government.  As  I  have  said,  the 
instinct  to  govern  —  re-form  —  unmake  — 
re-make  —  re-create  —  develops  very  early. 
A  boy  only  thirteen  years  old,  who  had 
been  reading  newspapers  of  one  party  till 
he  became  impressed  with  the  belief  that 
the  opposite  party  was  in  every  way  and  in 
every  thing  essentially  and  totally  corrupt, 
asked  his  mother,  impatiently  and  indig- 
nantly, "Why  don't  the  Government  abol- 
ish  the  Democrats  ?  "  His  question  was 
radical,  and  in  the  spirit  of  the  reformer. 
A  little  legislation,  in  his  estimation,  was  all 
that  was  necessary.  Bolingbroke,  though, 
understood  such  matters  very  differently. 
"  It  is  a  very  easy  thing  to  divine  good 
laws  ;  the  difficulty  is  to  make  them  effec- 
tive. The  great  mistake  is  that  of  looking  TJ^  great 
upon  men  as  virtuous,  or  thinking  that  they 
can  be  made  so  by. laws."  "Publish  few 
edicts,"  said  Don  Quixote  to  Governor 
Sancho  Panza,  "  but  let  them  be  good ;  and, 
above  all,  see  that  they  are  well  observed ; 


214  A  Club  of  One 

for  edicts  that  are  not  kept  are  the  same  as 
not  made,  and  seem  only  to  show  that  the 
prince,  though  he  had  wisdom  and  author- 
ity to  make  them,  had  not  the  courage  to 
insist  upon  their  execution.  Laws  that 
threaten,  and  are  not  enforced,  become 

King  Log**  like  King  Log,  whose  croaking  subjects 
first  feared,  then  despised  him."  Canon 
Wilberforce,  in  a  sermon  in  York  Minster, 
speaking  of  the  impossibility  of  restraining 
men's  appetites  and  passions,  said,  "  This 
is  not  the  platform  ;  and  yet,  before  this 
altar,  I  declare  that  there  is  nothing  at 
which  the  devils  laugh  more  than  at  an  act 
of  parliament."  "  Man,"  said  Douglas  Jer- 
rold,  "  will  not  be  made  temperate  or  virtu- 
ous by  the  strong  hand  of  the  law,  but  by 
the  teaching  and  influence  of  moral  power. 

Acts  of  par-  A  man  is  no  more  made  sober  by  act  of 
parliament  than  a  woman  is  made  chaste." 
There  is  a  speech  by  the  blunt  Duke  du 
Sully  to  an  assembly  of  popish  ladies,  who 
were  railing  very  bitterly  at  Henry  the 
Fourth,  at  his  accession  to  the  French 

The  Duke     throne  ;  "Ladies,"   said  he,  "you  have  a 

^wfrphh  very  good  king,  if  you  knew  when  you  are 
well.  However,  set  your  hearts  at  rest, 
for  he  is  not  a  man  to  be  scolded  or 
scratched  out  of  his  kingdom."  "  The 


A  Club  of  One  215 

idea  of  reform,"  says  Judge  Brackenridge, 
in  Modern  Chivalry,  "  delights  the  imagi- 
nation. Hence,  reformers  are  prone  to  re-  Reformers 
form  too  much.  There  is  a  blue  and  a  bet- 
ter  blue  ;  but  in  making  the  better  blue, 
a  small  error  in  the  proportion,  of  the 
drug,  or  alkali,  will  turn  it  black."  Leigh 
Hunt,  when  a  very  young  man,  wrote  a 
comedy  which  was  never  acted  or  pub- 
lished. It  was  entitled  A  Hundred  a  Year, 
and  turned  upon  a  hater  of  the  country, 
who,  upon  having  an  annuity  to  that 
amount  given  him,  on  condition  of  his 
never  going  out  of  London,  becomes  a 
hater  of  the  town.  "I  cannot,  for  my  traryeffeci' 
part,"  says  an  acute  essayist,  "  understand 
how  the  frame  of  mind  which  is  eager  for 
proselytes  should  survive  very  early  youth. 
I  would  not  conceal  my  own  views,  but 
neither  could  I  feel  anxious  to  thrust  them 
upon  others  ;  and  that,  for  the  very  simple 
reason  that  conversion  appears  to  me  to  be 
an  absurdity.  You  cannot  change  a  man's 
thoughts  about  things  as  you  can  change 
the  books  in  his  library.  The  mind  is  not  The  mind  i 
a  box,  which  can  have  opinions  inserted 
and  extracted  at  pleasure.  No  belief  is 
good  for  anything  which  is  not  part  of  an 
organic  growth  and  the  natural  product  of 


216  A  Club  of  One 

a  man's  mental  development  under  the  va- 
rious conditions  in  which  he  is  placed.  To 
promote  his  intellectual  activity,  to  encour- 
age him  to  think,  and  to  put  him  in  the 
way  of  thinking  rightly,  is  a  plain  duty; 
Ready-made  but  to  try  to  insert  ready-made  opinions 

opinions  not     •     .       i   •  •      i   i          t'^r  i         • 

to  be  in-  into  his  mind  by  dint  of  authority  is  to  con- 
tradict the  fundamental  principles  of  free 
inquiry."  "  Attempt  to  shape  the  world  ac- 
cording to  its  poetry,"  said  Dr.  Riccabocca, 
"and  you  fit  yourself  for  a  mad-house. 
The  farther  off  the  age  is  from  the  realiza- 
tion of  their  projects,  the  more  the  philos- 
ophers have  indulged  them.  Thus,  it  was 
amidst  the  saddest  corruptions  of  court 

A  fashion  in  manners  that  it  became  the  fashion  in  Paris 
to  sit  for  one's  picture,  with  a  crook  in 
one's  hand  as  Alexis  or  Daphne.  Just  as 
liberty  was  fast  dying  out  of  Greece,  and 
the  successors  of  Alexander  were  founding 
their  monarchies,  and  Rome  was  growing 
up  to  crush  in  its  iron  grasp  all  states 
save  its  own,  Plato  withdraws  his  eyes 
from  the  world,  to  open  them  in  his  dreamy 
Atlantis.  Just  in  the  grimmest  period  of 
English  history,  with  the  axe  hanging  over 

sir  Thomas  his  head,  Sir  Thomas  More  gives  us  his 

\he axe  ^er  Utopia."     The  error  of  Jeremy  Bentham 

his  head. 

and  of  John  Locke,  it  has  been  remarked, 


A  Club  of  One  2/7 

was  in  supposing  that  they  in  their  closets 
could  frame  de  novo  a  code  for  the  people. 
The  latter  prepared  a  code  more  than  a 
century  ago  for  one  of  the  North  Ameri- 
can colonies,  which  proved  a  signal  failure. 
Burke,  upon  being  conducted  by  Erskine 
to  his  garden,  through  a  tunnel  under  the 
road  that  divided  the  house  from  the  shrub- 
bery, all  the  beauty  of  Kenwood  (Lord 
Mansfield's  place)  and  the  distant  prospect 
suddenly  burst  upon  them.  "Oh,"  said 
Burke,  "this  is  just  the  place  for  a  reformer  c' 
—  all  the  beauties  are  beyond  your  reach." 
"  Sun  !  how  I  hate  thy  beams  !  "  exclaimed 
the  sick  philosopher ;  but  the  sick  philoso- 
pher could  not  tear  the  sun  out  of  the  sky. 
This  old  world  has  been  several  thousand 
ages  a  part  of  the  universe,  and  she  cannot 
be  easily  jostled  out  of  her  place.  The 
race  of  man  has  been  as  long  developing ; 
and  to  go  back  to  the  beginning  to  begin 
the  work  of  working  it  over  —  re-forming 
it — re-creating  it  — would  discourage  any 
but  courageous  reformers  of  the  aggressive 
type,  who,  in  their  zeal  and  sublime  confi- 
dence,  think  all  things  possible  of  accom- 
plishment. At  the  beginning  they  must 
begin,  to  be  thorough.  The  evil  —  accu- 
mulating for  thousands  of  ages  —  must  be 


218 


A  Club  of  One 


Pretty  and 
Christian. 


Movement 
not  always 
Progress-, 


The  arch- 
enemy. 


radically  eliminated,  to  make  room  for  the 
good  that  was  lost  at  the  Fall.  Hobhouse 
saw  it  differently.  He  once  said  to  Hunt 
that  "  the  only  real  thing  in  life  was  to  be 
always  doing  wrong,  and  always  to  be  for- 
given for  it."  Commenting  upon  the  re- 
mark, the  poet  asks,  "  Is  not  that  pretty 
and  Christian  ? "  Whoever  would  transform 
a  character,  it  has  been  well  said,  must 
undo  a  life  history.  The  fixed  and  un- 
changing laws  by  which  events  come  to 
pass  hold  sway  in  the  domain  of  mind  as  in 
every  other  domain  of  nature.  As  things 
are,  it  is  not  always  easy  to  know  what  is 
right  or  best.  Movement  is  not  always 
progress.  Parry,  in  his  Polar  expedition, 
while  urging  northward  along  the  ice  his 
sleighs  and  Samoyede  dogs,  found,  when 
the  sun,  bursting  through  the  fog,  revealed 
his  position,  that  he  had  been  unconsciously 
traveling  several  degrees  to  the  southward, 
since  he  had  been  journeying  on  a  mass  of 
floating  ice  borne  by  the  ocean  currents  to 
the  south.  The  devil  —  the  principle  of 
evil  —  whatever  you  call  him  or  it  —  all 
men  agree  in  regarding  the  arch-enemy. 
Resist  him  until  resistance  becomes  habit, 
and  he  will  not  much  trouble  you ;  permit 
him  liberties,  and  you  are  his,  body  and 


A  Club  of  One  219 

spirit.  King  Zohak,  as  Southey  relates  it, 
gave  the  devil  leave  to  kiss  his  shoulders. 
Instantly,  two  serpents  sprang  out,  who,  in 
the  fury  of  hunger,  attacked  his  head,  and 
attempted  to  get  at  his  brain.  Zohak 
pulled  them  away,  and  tore  them  with  his 
nails.  But  he  found  that  they  were  insep- 
arable parts  of  himself,  and  that  what  he  partsof 
was  lacerating  was  his  own  flesh. 

Alas !  Alas  !  I  am  troubled  now  with  Troubled 
my  eyes.  Fortunately,  with  all  my  varied  ™y£.hls 
and  multiplied  diseases  and  ailments,  my 
eyesight  has  remained  unimpaired,  until 
within  a  very  few  days.  My  doctor  is  not 
quite  clear  as  to  the  trouble,  and  suggests 
that  I  should  consult  a  specialist.  The 
thought  of  blindness  terrifies  me.  To  sit 
in  darkness  the  remainder  of  my  days, 
without  the  resource  of  vision  to  fortify 
me  against  innumerable  distresses,  would 
be  awful.  Without  my  usual  supply  of 
honey  from  my  library  I  should  starve.  Honey  from 
My  faculties  must  be  generously  fed,  and 
the  food  they  require  is  of  the  richest  and 
daintiest  varieties.  "  My  mind  my  king- 
dom is."  As  I  sit  in  my  easy-chair,  how- 
ever rheumatism  may  rack  me,  my  eye  can 
run  along  the  shelves,  and  my  mind  enjoy 


22O  A  Club  of  One 

the  society  of  a  century  of  worthies  of  all 
the  ages.  With  the  companionship  of  the 
gods,  the  gout,  even,  may  be  endured. 

The  gods      The    gods    sympathize.      They    all    have 

sympathize.  ]^nown  suffering,  and  derision,  and  isola- 
tion. "To  live  alone  is  the  chastisement 
of  whoever  will  raise  himself  too  high.'* 
Tortured,  imprisoned,  beheaded,  many  of 
them  were.  "  Awful  is  the  duel  between 
man  and  the  age  in  which  he  lives ! " 
Starved  often,  they  fed  on  ambrosia,  and 

Jacob  and  are  immortal.  Jacob,  with  the  heavens  for 
a  tent,  and  the  stones  for  a  pillow,  saw  the 
angels  ascending  and  descending.  Daniel, 
declining  the  king's  wine  and  meat,  and 
living  on  vegetables  and  water,  interpreted 
the  king's  vision.  Generous  memory  must 
supply  me  for  a  while.  My  doctor  says  I 
must  not  read :  that  a  little  reading,  even, 
is  perilous.  And  writing  —  the  least  —  he 
absolutely  prohibits.  This  record  of  my 
idleness,  therefore,  must  be  laid  aside. 
Sorry ;  for  this  essaying  at  composition  is 
more  nearly  an  amusement  than  anything 
that  I  attempt.  In  a  limited  way  I  shall 

A  cherished  be  driven  to  adopt  a  scheme  that  has  long 
been  in  my  mind.  I  long  have  thought 
that  if  I  were  a  rich  man  I  should  have  a 
dozen  competent  persons,  or  more,  to  read 


A  Club  of  One  221 

for  me.     They  should  be  selected  for  their 
special  fitness,  and  paid  generous  salaries, 
that  their  minds  might  be  entirely  at  ease, 
and   wholly   at    my   service.      The   world 
abounds  in  scholars,  who  would  be  glad  of  scholars  to 
such  employment.     Books  would  be  sup-  £*».  * 
plied  to  them  liberally.     Twenty  thousand 
dollars  a  year  I  should  enjoy  expending  in 
that  way.     I  should  then  feel  that  I  might 
be  fairly  acquainted  with  the  moral,  intel- 
lectual, and  material  progress  of  the  whole 
earth.     Certain  of  the   sciences  I  should 
have  men  employed  upon  of  the  highest  of  the  high- 
order  that  could  be  obtained.    Certain  parts  " 
of  the  world  I  should  have  explored  and 
studied  to  the  utmost  extent  that  books 
would  permit.     Eleemosynary  and  mission- 
ary efforts  of  every  description  I  should 
have   known   and   tabulated.      The    great 
growth   of   the   Great   West  —  known   to  The  Great 
geographers  only  a  few  years  ago  as  the     ** 
Great  American   Desert  —  I  should   have 
noted    as   intelligently   as   swift    progress 
would   allow.     I   should   have   a  man  for 
South   America   and  the   Pacific   Islands,  south 
who   should   report   to   me   every  sign   of  Amertca- 
growth  and   civilization  in  those   isolated 
regions.     I  should  have  another  for  Africa, 
who  should  be  specially  competent  for  that 


222  A  Club  of  One 

most  interesting  field.  The  rivers  and 
The  Dark  the  lakes  of  the  Dark  Continent  he  should 
explore  with  Livingstone  and  Stanley,  and 
others,  and  carefully  set  down  every  new 
settlement,  with  its  resources  and  pur- 
poses, as  far  as  could  be  ascertained.  In- 
dia should  be  invaded  and  ransacked  by  a 
china.  competent  reader.  And  China,  with  all 
her  peculiarities,  philosophies,  and  supersti- 
tions, should  be  carefully  and  searchingly 
studied.  China  !  —  that  strange  country, 
where  "objects  terrestrial  and  celestial, 
objects  visible  and  invisible,  and  objects 
real  and  imaginary,  are  made  the  recipients 
A  strange  of  homage ;  but  among  them  all  there  is 
not  one  the  object  of  the  worship  of  which 
is  to  make  the  devotee  more  pure  and 
more  sincere,  more  honest,  more  virtuous, 
or  more  holy.  The  object  whose  attain- 
ment is  desired  is  always  selfish,  sensual,  or 
secular."  And  Japan — a  more  wonderful 
country  still  —  I  should  keep  a  man,  or  two 
men,  constantly  engaged  in  investigating. 
If  practicable,  a  thoroughly  intelligent  per- 
son who  had  traveled  in  that  country 
should  be  employed.  The  decaying  religion 
of  the  Japanese  he  should  be  instructed  to 
comprehend  if  possible ;  and  especially  he 
should  be  instructed  to  observe  whatever 


1  he  gloom- 
iest  fatalism. 


A  Club  of  One 

is  taking  its  place.  The  awful  poverty  of 
that  old  country  where  humanity  is  such  a 
drug,  and  where  the  graveyards  are  greater 
in  population  than  the  towns ;  yet  Dai- 
koku,  the  god  of  wealth,  is  in  every  house 
and  worshiped  by  every  inhabitant,  with 
body  and  spirit ;  —  where  the  children  are 
taught  the  gloomiest  fatalism  from  the  ear- 
liest  moment  of  comprehension  ;  —  where 
soap  is  not  used,  —  only  a  little  sand  in  a 
running  stream  ;  —  where  the  children  do 
not  cry  ;  —  where  the  process  of  milking  a 
cow  is  unknown  ;  —  where  such  necessary 
articles  as  pins  are  never  seen.  A  traveler 
in  the  interior  of  the  country  for  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  miles  never  heard  a  child  NO  chad 
cry  !  "  Such  queer  crowds,"  she  says  ;  "  so  cried' 
silent  and  gaping,  remaining  motionless  for 
hours,  the  wide  awake  babies,  on  the  moth- 
ers' backs  and  in  the  fathers'  arms,  never 
crying."  "  In  Yusowa,"  she  writes,  "  I 
took  my  lunch  in  a  yard,  and  the  people  A  scene. 
crowded  in  hundreds  to  the  gate,  and  those 
behind  being  unable  to  see  me,  got  ladders 
and  climbed  on  the  adjacent  roofs,  where 
they  remained  till  one  of  the  roofs  gave 
way  with  a  loud  crash,  and  precipitated 
about  fifty  men,  women,  and  children  into 
the  room  below,  which  fortunately  was  va- 


224 


A  Club  of  One 


Scant  cos- 
tumes. 


A  strange 
sight. 


fan. 


cant.  Nobody  screamed  !  "  The  scant  cos- 
tumes of  a  large  proportion  of  the  popula- 
tion in  the  interior  are  curious.  The  same 
traveler  reports  that  the  younger  children 
wear  nothing  at  all  but  a  string  and  an  am- 
ulet. "  Could  anything,"  she  asks,  "  be  a 
stranger  sight  than  a  decent-looking,  mid- 
dle-aged man,  lying  on  his  chest  in  the 
veranda,  raised  on  his  elbows,  and  intently 
reading  a  book,  clothed  only  in  a  pair  of 
spectacles  ? "  Many  of  the  men  in  the 

A  hat  and  a  rice-fields  wear  only  a  hat,  with  a  fan  at- 
tached to  a  girdle.  As  the  lady  rode 
through  Yokote,  a  town  of  ten  thousand 
souls,  the  people  rushed  out  from  the  baths 
to  see  her,  men  and  women  alike,  without 
a  particle  of  clothing.  Art,  too,  I  should 
have  a  competent  reader  in  —  an  artist  if 
possible  —  to  report  the  achievements  of 
the  greatest  painters  and  sculptors.  The 

Literature,  novel  fields  of  literature  should  be  scoured ; 
in  a  word,  every  thing  knowable,  present 
and  past,  should  be  known,  as  far  as  was 
practicable,  and  communicated  to  me,  at 
stated  hours,  to  suit  my  convenience  — 
intelligently,  enthusiastically,  exuberantly. 
Twenty  thousand  dollars  a  year  expended 
in  that  delightful  way,  for  enlightenment, 
entertainment,  and  occupation,  I  should 
consider  cheap  and  magnificent  pleasure. 


Art. 


$20,000  a 
year. 


A  Club  of  One  225 

"The  burden  and  the  mystery  of  all 
this  unintelligible  world/'  "  Through  mys-  Through 
tery  to  mystery."  There  is  nothing  beau-  7^7^° 
tiful,  sweet,  or  grand  in  life,  it  has  been 
said,  but  in  its  mysteries.  The  sentiments 
which  agitate  us  most  strongly  are  envel- 
oped in  obscurity  :  modesty,  virtuous  love, 
sincere  friendship,  have  all  their  secrets, 
with  which  the  world  must  not  be  made 
acquainted.  Hearts  which  love  understand 
each  other  by  a  word ;  half  of  each  is  at  all 
times  open  to  the  other.  Innocence  itself  innocence 
is  but  a  holy  ignorance,  and  the  most  inef-  ****., 
fable  of  mysteries.  Infancy  is  only  happy 
because  it  as  yet  knows  nothing  ;  age  mis- 
erable because  it  has  nothing  more  to 
learn.  Happily  for  it,  when  the  mysteries 
of  life  are  ending,  those  of  immortality 
commence.  Heraclitus,  it  is  known,  com- 
posed  a  book  On  Nature,  which  he  depos- 
ited in  the  temple  of  Diana.  The  style  in 
which  it  was  written  was  purposely  ob- 
scure, that  it  might  be  read  only  by  the 
learned,  he  being  afraid,  if  it  were  to  af- 
ford entertainment  to  the  people  generally, 
that  it  would  soon  become  so  common  as 
to  procure  him  only  contempt.  This  book, 
says  Lucretius,  gained  extraordinary  repu- 
tation, because  nobody  understood  it.  Da- 


226  A  Club  of  One 

rius,  king  of  Persia,  having  heard  of  it, 
wrote  to  the  author  to  induce  him  to  come 
and  explain  it  to  him,  offering  him,  at  the 
same  time,  a  handsome  reward  and  a  lodg- 
ing in  his  own  palace  ;  but  Heraclitus  re- 
fused  to  go.  Swift's  profound  knowledge 
of  human  nature  led  him  to  envelop  his 
publications  in  all  the  mystery  possible. 
After  the  Tale  of  a  Tub  and  Battle  of  the 
Books  had  been  handed  about  in  manu- 
script for  years,  they  were  published  anon- 
ymously.  Voltaire's  latest  French  editors 
give  a  list  of  his  one  hundred  and  eight 
pseudonyms.  The  mystery  and  obscurity 
of  The  Divine  Comedy  gave  it  the  inter- 
est and  almost  the  importance  of  a  new 
religion  for  a  century  or  more.  Steele 
says  the  art  of  managing  mankind  is  only 
to  make  them  stare  a  little  to  keep  up 
their  astonishment ;  to  let  nothing  be  fa- 
miliar to  them,  but  ever  to  have  some- 
thing in  their  sleeve,  in  which  they  must 
Rabelais,  think  you  are  deeper  than  you  are.  Rab- 
elais struck  terrible  blows,  then  hid  him- 
self in  his  humor.  His  general  incompre- 
hensibleness  was  his  strength  with  the 
multitude,  which  laughed  without  always 
knowing  what  it  was  laughing  about  —  the 
object  satirized  being  presented  in  all  sorts 


A  Club  of  One  227 

of  disguises.  The  wisdom  and  beauty  of 
Tristram  Shandy  :  how  few  readers  discover 
or  appreciate  them,  compared  with  the 
greater  number  who  delight  in  its  nonsense 
and  coarseness.  The  influence  and  fame 
of  the  Letters  of  Jimius  were  more  the  /****« 
result  of  the  mystery  of  their  authorship 
than  of  their  essential  ability.  The  fact 
that  they  have  been  attributed  to  so  many 
is  evidence  that  many  were  thought  capa- 
ble of  producing  them.  While  books  con- 
tinue to  be  printed  upon  the  subject  of 
their  origin,  and  the  wisest  of  men  exercise 
themselves  in  speculating  upon  the  same, 
copies  of  the  famous  Letters  will  multiply,  The  f 
and  be  thought  necessary  to  every  library, 
though  the  events  which  produced  them 
have  long  ceased  to  be  of  much  interest, 
except  to  the  most  curious  student.  What 
were  romance  -  writing  without  mystery  ? 
The  story-writer  must  not  only  be  ingen- 
ious in  inventing  his  mysteries,  but  he 
must  be  skillful  in  carrying  them,  to  suc- 
ceed with  the  public.  Great  is  the  mys-  The  mystery 
tery  of  godliness.  In  the  attempt  to  know  ° ' 
the  unknowable,  creeds  have  been  pro- 
duced and  sects  organized.  If  its  teach- 
ers had  taught  the  practice  of  Christianity 
continually,  and  not  expended  themselves 


228  A  Club  of  One 

in    developing    systems    of    theology,    all 
christen.      Christendom   would   long   ago   have  been 

dom  would  .  . 

have  been  a  united  army  against  Satan.  Quiet  is 
thought  to  be  proof  of  reserved  force.  The 
individual  who  keeps  his  own  counsel  is 
always  overestimated  by  the  public.  The 
same  is  the  case  with  the  estate  of  a  man 
who  is  careful  to  be  out  of  debt.  The  lady 
who  does  not  cheapen  herself  by  careless 
association  and  much  display,  is  invested 
and  clothed  by  the  public  with  every  vir- 
tue. All  the  world  acknowledges  that  fe- 
licitous reserve  which  La  Rochefoucauld 

The  mystery  has  called  "  the  mystery  of  the  lady."  An 
air  of  success  —  how  imposing  !  The  world 
pays  court  to  it  unconsciously.  Boswell 
said  Beauclerk  told  a  story  with  that  air  of 
the  world  that  had  an  inexpressibly  im- 
pressive effect,  as  if  there  were  something 
more  than  was  expressed,  or  than  perhaps 
could  be  perfectly  understood.  The  influ- 

A  compound  ence  of  what  Grammont  calls  "  a  compound 

countenance.  ...  .  . 

countenance,  is  not  merely  puzzling,  it  is 
powerful.  Squeers,  when  introducing  Nich- 
olas to  his  school,  looked  very  profound, 
as  if  he  had  a  perfect  apprehension  of  what 
was  inside  all  the  books,  and  could  say 
every  word  of  their  contents  by  heart  if 
he  only  chose  to  take  the  trouble.  Lord 


A  Club  of  One  229 

Thurlow  carried  himself  with  such  a  ma- 
jestic  air  that  only  the  more  intelligent 
ever  asked  themselves  whether  any  one 
could  really  be  as  wise  as  Lord  Thurlow  al- 
ways seemed.  Talleyrand  was  a  mysteri-  Talleyrand. 
ous  character.  No  one,  it  appears,  could 
even  intelligently  guess  his  motives  or  pur- 
poses. Suspicion,  caution,  wickedness, 
subtilty,  alertness,  were  natural  to  him,  at 
the  same  time  they  were  so  mysteriously 
hidden  in  the  recesses  of  his  character, 
that  their  existence  as  essential  parts  of 
him  were  hardly  thought  of.  At  the  very 
time  he  was  most  ready  for  a  deadly  when  ready 
spring,  he  appeared  as  quiescent  as  if  all 
his  faculties  were  dormant.  "  What  does 
he  mean  by  it  ? "  he  asked,  when  a  cele- 
brated diplomatist  fell  ill.  The  report  of  the 
death  of  George  III.  having  just  obtained 
circulation  throughout  Paris,  a  banker,  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  managed  to  obtain  an 
audience  with  Talleyrand,  who  was  then 
Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs.  The  banker, 
who,  like  many  of  his  financial  brethren,  j 
wished  to  make  a  good  hit,  and  thought 
the  present  a  favorable  opportunity,  had 
the  indiscretion  to  reveal  to  the  minister 
the  real  object  of  his  visit.  Talleyrand 
listened  to  him  without  moving  a  muscle 


230  A  Club  of  One 

of  his  phlegmatic  visage,  and  at  length  re- 
plied in  a  solemn  tone,  "  Some  say  that 
the  king  of  England  is  dead,  others  say 
that  he  is  not  dead;  but  do  you  wish  to 
know  my  opinion  ?  "  "  Most  anxiously, 

Not  very  prince ! "  "  Well,  then,  I  believe  —  neither ! 
9ry'  I  mention  this  in  confidence  to  you ;  but  I 
rely  on  your  discretion  :  the  slightest  im- 
prudence on  your  part  would  compromise 
me  most  seriously."  Madame  Flamelin 
one  day  reproached  M.  de  Moutron  with 
his  attachment  to  Talleyrand.  "  Good  God ! 
madame,"  replied  M.  de  Moutron,  "  who 

A  compu-  could  help  liking  him,  he  is  so  wicked  !  " 
It  was  a  maxim  of  his,  that  a  man  should 
make  his  d^but  in  the  world  as  though  he 
were  about  to  enter  a  hostile  country  ;  he 
must  send  out  scouts,  establish  sentinels, 
and  even  be  upon  the  watch  himself. 
Madame  de  Stael  said  of  him,  "  The  good 
Maurice  is  not  unlike  the  manikins  which 
children  play  with  —  dolls  with  heads  of 
cork  and  legs  of  lead ;  throw  them  up 
which  way  you  please,  they  are  sure  to  fall 
on  their  feet."  Motley  describes  the  mys- 
terious,  the  Jesuitical,  the  powerful  Philip 
II.  at  his  writing-table,  "  scrawling  his  apos- 
tilles."  "The  fine,  innumerable  threads 
which  stretched  across  the  surface  of  Chris- 


A  Club  of  One  231 

tendom,  and  covered  it  as  with  a  net,  all 
converged   in   that    silent    cheerless    cell. 
France  was  kept  in  a  state  of  perpetual  France  in 
civil  war;  the  Netherlands  had  been  con-  avii 


verted  into  a  shambles  ;  Ireland  was  main- 
tained in  a  state  of  chronic  rebellion  ;  Scot- 
land was  torn  with  internal  feuds,  regularly 
organized  and  paid  for  by  Philip  ;  and  its 
young  monarch  —  *  that  lying  king  of 
Scots,'  as  Leicester  called  him  —  was  kept 
in  a  leash  ready  to  be  slipped  upon  Eng- 
land, when  his  master  should  give  the 
word  ;  and  England  herself  was  palpitating  England 
with  the  daily  expectation  of  seeing  a  dis- 
ciplined horde  of  brigands  let  loose  upon 
her  shores  ;  and  all  this  misery,  past,  pres- 
ent, and  future,  was  wholly  due  to  the 
existence  of  that  gray-haired  letter-writer 
at  his  peaceful  writing-table."  But  there 
was  a  man  in  Holland,  —  more  mysterious, 
more  taciturn,  more  impenetrable,  —  named 
William  the  Silent,  —  who  somehow  con-  wuiiam  the 
trived,  every  night,  while  the  wily  monarch 
slumbered,  to  have  his  writing-desk  care- 
fully examined,  its  contents  intelligently 
noted,  and  scrupulously  reported  —  the 
most  interesting  secret  in  history.  George 
Washington  was  a  mysterious  personage,  washing- 
His  nature  was  impenetrable  :  it  was  not  *° 


A  Club  of  One 

comprehended,  and  is  not,  to  this  day.  No 
A  charmed  wonder  he  was  believed  to  have  a  charmed 
life.  Some  years  after  the  battle  known 
as  Braddock's  Defeat,  an  old  Indian  sa- 
chem visited  Washington,  and  told  him 
that  he  was  one  of  the  warriors  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  French,  who  lay  in  ambush  on 
the  banks  of  the  Monongahela,  and  wrought 
such  havoc  in  Braddock's  army.  He  de- 
clared that  he  and  his  young  men  had 
singled  him  out,  as  he  made  himself  con- 
spicuous riding  about  the  field  of  battle 
with  the  general's  orders,  and  had  fired 
at  him  repeatedly,  but  without  success; 
whence  they  had  concluded  that  he  was 
Protected  under  the  protection  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
spirit.  '  had  a  charmed  life,  and  could  not  be  slain 
in  battle.  The  mysterious  and  the  incom- 
prehensible were  readily  believed  to  be 
superhuman.  An  eminent  English  woman 
has  remarked  it  as  a  singular  fact  that 
whenever  we  find  out  how  anything  is 
done,  our  first  conclusion  seems  to  be  that 
God  did  not  do  it.  The  greater  the  igno- 
rhe  power  ranee,  the  greater  the  power  of  mystery 
over  it.  Ives,  head-jailer  while  Leigh  Hunt 
was  a  prisoner,  was  a  self-willed,  ignorant 
creature.  He  was  not  proof,  however, 
against  a  Greek  copy  of  Pindar,  which  he 


A  Club  of  One 

happened  to  light  upon  one  day  amongst 
Hunt's  books.  "  Its  unintelligible  charac- 
ter,"  says  the  poet,  "  gave  him  a  notion  /% 
that  he  had  got  somebody  to  deal  with  who 
might  really  know  something  which  he  did 
not.  Perhaps  the  gilt  leaves  and  red  mo- 
rocco binding  had  their  share  in  the  magic. 
The  upshot  was,  that  he  always  showed 
himself  anxious  to  appear  well  with  me,  as 
a  clever  fellow,  treating  me  with  great 
civility  on  all  occasions  but  one,  when  I 
made  him  very  angry  by  disappointing  him 
in  a  money  amount.  The  Pindar  was  a 


mystery  that  staggered  him.     I  remember  " 
very  well,  that  giving  me  a  long  account 
one  day  of  something  connected  with  his 
business,  he  happened  to  catch  with  his  eye 
the  shelf  that  contained  it,  and  whether  he 
saw  it  or  not,  abruptly  finished  by  observing, 
'But,  mister,  you  knows  all  these  things 
as  well  as  I  do.'  "     Naturalists  refer  to  the 
mysterious  hypocrisies  of  nature,  and  how  Themyste- 
they  repeat  themselves  with  more  or  less  r 

,  ,  ture. 

completeness  and  consciousness  in  the 
mental  life  of  man.  What,  it  is  asked,  is 
the  vast  force  exerted  by  habit  in  mould- 
ing men  into  the  likeness  of  the  society  to 
which  they  belong,  except  a  device  for 
making  them  safe  by  preventing  them  from 


A  Club  of  One 

being  conspicuous,  just  as  the  small  green 
caterpillar  is  made  safe  and  unconspicuous 
by  its  resemblance  to  the  color  of  the 

A  suggestive  leaves  on  which  it  feeds.  And  is  there 
really  any  human  analogy  for  the  harmless 
snake  and  the  sphinx  caterpillar,  which 
succeed  by  appearing  to  possess  dangerous 
qualities  which  they  have  not,  or  more 
dangerous  qualities  than  any  they  really 

Hypocrisy,  have  ?  Hypocrisy  is  the  most  specious, 
the  most  artful,  the  most  impenetrable, 
the  most  mysterious  of  all  the  crimes,  or 
sins,  or  vices.  It  was  only  pardonable,  one 

when  one  of  would  think,  "  when  theological  controver- 

the  necessa-        .  . 

sics  were  converted  into  engines  of  oppres- 


sion, which  filled  prisons,  ruined  families, 
and  exiled  virtuous  men,  —  rendering  hypoc- 
risy one  of  the  necessaries  of  life."  When 
deliberate  and  voluntary,  it  has  marvelous 
advantages.  "  It  is  an  act,"  says  Moliere, 
"of  which  the  imposture  is  always  re- 
spected ;  and  though  it  may  be  discovered, 
no  one  dares  to  do  anything  against  it. 
All  the  other  vices  of  man  are  liable  to 
censure,  and  every  one  has  the  liberty  of 
boldly  attacking  them  ;  but  hypocrisy  is  a 
A  privileged  privileged  vice,  which  with  its  hand  closes 
everybody's  mouth,  and  enjoys  its  repose 
with  sovereign  impunity."  But  how  odi- 


A  Club  of  One  235 

ous  to  God  are  hypocrites,  is  denoted  in 
the  force  of  that  dreadful  expression,  And 
his  portion  shall  be  with  the  hypocrites. 
"You  will  find  in  the  Holy  Scriptures," 
says  Sir  Roger  L' Estrange,  "that  God  has 
given  the  grace  of  repentance  to  persecu- 
tors, idolaters,  murderers,  adulterers,  etc., 
but  I  am  mistaken  if  the  whole  Bible  af-  T%?  sat* 

off  or  as  no 

fords    any   one   instance    of    a  converted  *££%£* 
hypocrite."  &***« 

Yes ;  I  am  a  fogy,  and  not  a  reformer. 
While  I  cannot  help  lamenting  certain  ten- 
dencies in  our  civilization,  I  do  not  pretend 
to  know  a  way  of  correcting  or  diverting 
them.     Nor  am  I  in  any  sense  a  preacher,  in  no  sense  a 
My  physical  disabilities  and  isolation  pre-  *** 
vent  me  from  being  anything  but  a  spec- 
tator.    I  see,  and  muse,  and  rarely  utter 
myself;   knowing   perfectly  well  that   my 
views  of  many  things,  when  I  express  them, 
are  sure  to  be  considered  distempered.     It 
is  possible,  I  admit,  that  my  conclusions  ffucott£fu. 
may   sometimes    be  colored    by  my   dis- sums' 
tresses  ;  but  what   are  they  in  influence, 
compared  with  the  active  man's  prejudices, 
jealousies,  and  interests  ?     If  the  sick  man 
be  more  or  less  a  coward,  and  only  able  to 
utter  feebly  his  half-truths,  the  well  man  Half-truth*. 


A  Club  of  One 

is  ambitious,  aggressive,  and  very  much 
a  bully.  With  his  two  big  fists,  ,and  his 
round  veins  filled  with  hot  blood,  he  crushes 
his  way,  —  as  often  in  defiance  of  reason 
as  in  compliance  with  it.  I  here  who  sit 
in  solitude,  deploring,  am  as  apt  to  be  right, 
The  lusty  possibly,  as  the  lusty  partisan  or  bigot, 
Ugot.  with  his  battle-axe  of  violence.  "  Reason," 
says  Goethe,  "  is  the  property  of  an  elect 
few."  Soundness,  equanimity,  and  true 
courage,  are  its  legitimate  offspring.  Few 
there  be  that  are  healthy,  in  the  full  sense, 
and  fewer  that  are  wise,  and  they  only  at 
times,  under  favorable  conditions.  As  an- 
Passion  the  ger  is  madness,  so  is  passion  the  opposite 

opposite  of 

reason.  of  reason.  At  one  time,  the  passionate  man 
is  Herculean  and  inflexible  ;  at  another, 
he  is  powerless  and  plastic.  Confucius 
said,  "  I  have  not  seen  a  firm  and  unbend- 
ing man."  Some  one  replied,  "  There  is 
Sin  Ch'ang."  "  Ch'ang,"  said  the  Master, 
"  is  under  the  influence  of  the  passions  ; 
how  can  he  be  pronounced  firm  and  un- 
bending ? "  And  this  leads  me  to  speak 

one  of  the     of  one  of  the  modern  tendencies  —  in  my 

modern  ten-          .  . 

mind  when  I  began  this  paragraph.  It  is, 
to  unman  men,  —  to  disindividualize  them. 
Morals  therefore,  as  a  result,  it  seems  to 
me,  less  and  less,  are  based  upon  personal 


A  Club  of  One 

responsibility.  Man,  in  the  old-fashioned 
view,  was  held  a  man,  —  responsible  per- 
sonally for  his  conduct.  His  ambition  was  rheamM- 
to  breast  the  current,  and  to  avoid  being 
turned  about,  as  the  twig,  by  every  little 
eddy.  If  he  made  the  voyage  successfully, 
there  was  heroism  in  him.  Character  was 
so  much  effort,  and  resistance,  and  endur- 
ance. Manliness  was  held  to  be  accretive 
and  cumulative.  Every  trial  was  thought 
to  give  another  resource,  and  every  con- 
quest to  add  new  power.  Each  achieve- 
ment gave  increased  confidence.  Growth 
was  obvious,  and  calculable,  and  applica- 
ble. To  cut  the  cable,  and  launch  away 
from  conventional  helps  and  restraints,  was 
the  common  ambition.  The  individual  felt  ** 
fettered  and  shorn,  if  dependent.  Before 
he  consented  to  surrender  himself  and  be 
subordinate,  he  must  be  tried  by  trusts, 
perils,  and  calamities.  He  aspired  to  stand 
an  individual  man,  —  responsible  to  all  men  Personal  re- 
for  all  the  manhood  that  was  in  him.  Now,  * 
the  tendency  is  directly  the  other  way,  — 
to  underestimate,  if  not  totally  to  sink,  the 
individual.  The  theory  is  rapidly  becom- 
ing ascendant  that  the  business  of  Govern- 
ment is  to  take  care  of  the  citizen.  Man 
is  transcended  by  the  machine,  and  he  is 


organiza- 
tions. 


Individual- 
ity. 


A  Club  of  One 
societies  o/   disindividualized  by  societies  of  every  sort. 

every  sort.  J 

The  state  educates  him  ;  his  social  set  gov- 
erns his  conduct ;  he  admits  his  inability 
to  take  care  of  his  earnings,  and  trusts  the 
savings  bank  for  extremities  ;  the  insur- 
ance company  provides  for  his  family  af- 
ter his  death  ;  —  orders  and  organizations, 
ready-made,  of  every  description,  for  every- 
thing, divine  and  human,  to  take  charge  of 
his  soul,  his  body,  and  his  estate,  here  and 
hereafter.  Instead  of  boiling  up  individ- 
uals into  the  species,  I  would,  with  Jane 
Carlyle,  draw  a  chalk  circle  round  every  in- 
dividuality, and  preach  to  it  to  keep  within 
that,  and  preserve  and  cultivate  its  identity 
at  the  expense  of  ever  so  much  lost  gilt  of 
other  people's  "isms."  It  seems  to  me  as 
it  did  to  Emerson,  that  the  Deity  dressed 
each  soul  which  he  sends  into  nature  in 
certain  virtues  and  powers  not  communi- 
cable to  other  men,  and  sending  it  to  per- 
form one  more  turn  through  the  circle  of 
beings,  wrote  "Not  transferable,"  and 
"  Good  for  this  trip  only,"  on  these  gar- 
ments of  the  soul.  In  the  war  of  civiliza- 
tion upon  man,  the  growth  of  the  individ- 
ual is  systematically  discouraged.  Soon  he 
finds  himself  underestimating  himself,  in 
contrast  with  the  omnipotence  of  organi- 


Not  trans- 
ferable. 


A  Club  of  One  239 

zation  and  machinery ;  then  he  surren- 
ders, and  begins  living  for  the  day,  to  be 

warmed  by  the  sun,  and  to  be  cared  for  as  warmed  by 

•  -I     ^ sun" 

an  incompetent.     His  efforts  cease  to  be 

continuous  and  persistent.  They  are  not 
consciously  continued  from  yesterday,  to 
be  extended  throughout  to-morrow  and  to- 
morrow, until  his  work  is  accomplished 
or  scheme  realized.  "  The  height  charms, 
the  steps  to  it  do  not ;  with  the  summit 
in  view,  we  walk  along  the  plain."  Thor-  Thorough- 
oughness  is  less  and  less  in  vogue.  The  and  less  in 

VOgliC* 

world  is  filling  up  with  Dick  Tintos,  who 
begin  to  paint  without  any  notion  of  draw- 
ing. Sir  Thomas  Lawrence's  drawings 
were  so  perfect  that  it  seemed  a  sin  to  add 
any  color  to  them.  The  same  may  be  said 
of  Lessing's.  Dick  was  for  a  time  patron-  Patronized 

.        ,  .  £  for  a  time. 

ized,  as  the  story  goes,  by  one  or  two  of 
those  judicious  persons  who  make  a  virtue 
of  being  singular,  and  of  pitching  their  own 
opinions  against  those  of  the  world  in  mat- 
ters of  taste  and  criticism.  But  they  soon 
tired  of  poor  Tinto,  and  laid  him  down  as  a 
load,  upon  the  same  principle  that  a  spoilt 
child  throws  away  its  plaything.  Misery  Misery  took 
took  him  up,  and  accompanied  him  to  a 
premature  grave,  to  which  he  was  carried 
from  an  obscure  lodging,  where  he  had 


240  A  Club  of  One 

been  dunned  by  his  landlady  within  doors, 
and  watched  by  bailiffs  without,  until  death 
came  to  his  relief. 


Another  So  another  President  has  been  peace- 
fully inaugurated  (with  less  than  the  usual 
measure  of  nonsense),  after  all  the  excite- 
ments and  threats  of  a  long  period  of  par- 
tisan violence.  I  feel  an  impulse  to  expa- 
tiate about  it  all  a  little ;  but  my  eyes  are 
a  perpetual  warning.  I  cannot  help,  how- 

An  acute  re-  ever,  quoting  an  extremely  acute  remark 
of  Harriet  Martineau's,  in  her  Society  in 
America,  published  as  long  ago  as  1837: 
"  Irish  emigrants  occasionally  fight  out  the 
battle  of  the  Boyne  in  the  streets  of  Phila- 
delphia, but  native  Americans  bestow  their 
apprehensions  and  their  wrath  upon  things 
future,  and  their  philosophy  upon  things 
past.  While  they  do  this,  it  will  not  be  in 
the  power  of  any  President  to  harm  them 
much  or  long." 

The  dimen-  Some  nice  calculations  as  to  the  dimen- 
sions of  hell  are  to  be  found  in  the  old 
books,  and  are  interesting.  Ribera,  a  cu- 
rious divine,  calculated  hell  to  be  "  a  mate- 
rial and  local  fire  in  the  centre  of  the 
earth,  two  hundred  Italian  miles  in  diam- 


A  Club  of  One  241 

eter."  But  Lessius,  another  divine,  "  would 
have  this  local  hell  far  less,  one  Dutch  mile 
in  diameter,  all  filled  with  fire  and  brim- 
stone ;  because,  as  he  demonstrated,  that 
space,  cubically  multiplied,  would  make  a 
sphere  able  to  hold  eight  hundred  thou-  Eight  hun. 
sand  millions  of  damned  bodies  (allowing 
each  body  six  cubic  feet),  which  would 


abundantly  suffice." 


What  a  thing  is  the  human  brain!  Phys-  The  human 
iologists   tell   us   that  a  fragment  of  the 
gray  substance  of  it,  not  larger  than  the 
head  of  a  small  pin,  contains  parts  of  many 
thousands  of  commingled  globes  and  fibres. 
Of  ganglion  globules  alone,  according  to 
the   estimate    of    Meynert,   there    cannot 
be  less  than  six  hundred  millions  in  the  six  hundred 
convolutions  of  a  human  brain.     They  are 


indeed  in  such  infinite  numbers  that  pos- 
sibly only  a  small  portion  of  the  globules 
provided   are    ever  turned  to   account  in 
even  the  most  energetic  brains.     "What 
else  than  a  natural  and  mighty  palimpsest  A  mighty 
is  the  human  brain  ?  "  exclaims  De  Quin-  *a  ***** 
cey.     "  Everlasting  layers  of  ideas,  images, 
feelings,   fall   upon   it   as  softly  as   light. 
Each   succession   seems   to  bury  all   that 
went  before.     And  yet,  in  reality,  not  one 


A  Club  of  One 

is  extinguished."  Coleridge  tells  a  story 
of  a  servant  maid,  who,  in  a  fever,  spoke 

Remarkable  Greek,  Hebrew,  and  Latin  ;  Erasmus  men- 
tions an  Italian  who  spoke  German,  though 
he  had  forgotten  that  language  for  twenty 
years  ;  there  is  also  a  case  recorded  of  a 
butcher's  boy  who,  when  insane,  recited 
passages  from  the  Phedre  which  he  had 
heard  only  once.  Every  experience  a  man 
has,  it  is  asserted,  lies  dormant  within 

The  human  him  :  the  human  soul  is  like  a  deep  and 

soul  like  a  '  F 

^ombrfiake  som^re  lake*  of  which  light  reveals  only 
the  surface  ;  beneath  there  lives  a  whole 
world  of  animals  and  plants,  which  a  storm 
or  an  earthquake  may  suddenly  bring  to 
light  before  the  astonished  consciousness. 
A  rush  of  a  little  alcoholized  blood  to 

The  brain  a  the  brain,  the  fumes  of  opium  or  hasheesh, 

delicate  -ma-  .    .  - 

chine.  may  produce  the  most  surprising  results  in 
the  mental  machine.  A  few  drops  of  bel- 
ladonna or  of  henbane  give  rise  to  fearful 
visions.  A  little  pus  accumulated  in  the 
brain,  a  lesion  so  slight  that  the  microscope 
can  scarce  detect  it,  gives  rise  to  mental 
disorganizations  called  delirium,  insanity, 
monomania.  Some  years  ago,  for  a  change, 
I  spent  a  few  weeks  at  a  country  water- 
ing place.  My  condition,  at  the  particular 
time  I  am  to  speak  of,  was  peculiar,  —  so 


A  Club  of  One  243 

strange  indeed  that  I  believed  myself  on 

the  point  of  a  dangerous  fever.     I  had  not  At  the  point 

consulted  a  physician,  from  a  lack  of  con-  *H*%MT. 

fidence  in  the  only  one  to  be  had  nearer 

than  the  neighboring  city.     One  night,  as 

I  lay  in  my  bed,  —  the  full  moon  pouring 

in  its  light  with  such  splendor  and  strength 

as  to  make   the   smallest   objects   in   the 

room  visible,  —  I  reflected  in  terror  upon 

the  risk  of  passing  another  hour  without 

medical  advice.     My  brain  was  so  excited 

—  the  whole  mental  machinery  was  run-  The  mental 

ning  at  such  a  tremendous  speed  —  that  it  ru****gai* 

.  .  .  tremendous 

seemed  in  the  very  act  of  flying  to  pieces,  speed. 
The  thought  of  sleep  in  such  a  state  was 
terrifying  to  me ;  to  remain  awake  was 
more  terrible  still.  I  employed  every  men- 
tal device  I  could  think  of  to  quiet  myself, 
at  the  same  time  I  did  everything  possible 
to  preserve  consciousness.  In  spite  of  me, 
while  contemplating  with  such  composure 
as  I  could  the  full  round  moon  pouring  its 
flood  of  light  over  me,  my  eyelids  closed, 
and  I  thought  I  was  present  early  at  a  At  a  great 

meeting  in 

great  meeting,  assembling  in  Union  Square  union 

.  .  .  Square. 

to  take  into  consideration  the  condition  of 
the  Republic,  and  to  devise  such  means  as 
might  be  thought  best  to  aid  her  in  her 
distressing  extremity.  The  civil  war  was 


244 


A  Club  of  One 


Every  inter' 
est  in  peril. 


Gathering, 
gathering. 


A  hundred 
thousand. 


Brooding 
anxiety. 


A  list  of 
vice-presi- 
dents. 


raging  in  all  its  fury.  Whole  divisions  of 
troops  had  been  cut  up,  and  the  tempests 
had  scattered  the  fleets.  All  interests 
seemed  to  be  in  peril,  and  every  citizen 
was  soberly  anxious.  I  had  gone  to  the 
great  meeting  early,  as  I  have  said.  The 
people  were  gathering  rapidly.  They  came 
in  carriages,  in  omnibuses,  in  horse-cars,  on 
foot.  Every  vehicle  appeared  to  be  crowd- 
ed, and  to  leave  each  one  of  its  passen- 
gers. Soon  the  people  filled  the  square, 
and  then  the  broad  pavements  around  the 
square,  and  then  the  broad  streets  around 
the  broad  pavements,  and  then  the  broad 
pavements  on  the  opposite  sides  of  the 
broad  streets,  and  then  the  door-steps  all 
round,  and  windows,  and  house-tops  —  a 
hundred  thousand.  I  looked  under  each 
hat  rim  and  into  each  hat,  and  saw  every 
face  of  every  man  and  woman.  I  recog- 
nized the  faces  of  many  familiar  acquaint- 
ances and  the  faces  of  many  that  I  only 
occasionally  saw.  The  same  brooding  anx- 
iety marked  the  multitude  of  visages.  The 
vast  assemblage  was  called  to  order  by 
Mr.  Elliot  C.  Cowdin,  a  well-known  mer- 
chant. His  little  speech  was  neat  and  ap- 
propriate :  I  heard  each  word  of  it,  and 
every  intonation.  A  long  list  of  vice-pres- 


A  Club  of  One  245 

idents  was  then  read  —  including  more  than 

a  hundred  well-known  names  —  represent-  A  hundred 

,,.  i  11     •  11  well-known 

mg  intelligently  all  interests  and  all  pro-  names. 
fessions  of  the  metropolis.  The  names 
most  conspicuous  for  intelligence,  and 
honor,  and  wealth,  were  all  there,  —  not 
one,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  omitted.  I  lis-  Listened  at- 
tened  to  each  one  attentively  as  it  was 
read  out.  Now  a  conspicuous  and  hon- 
ored name  in  Wall  street  was  pronounced. 
Now  the  name  of  a  flour  merchant  in 
South  street.  Now  a  name  well  known  in 
importing  circles.  Now  a  familiar  name  in 
"  the  swamp,"  —  the  leather  region.  Jour- 
nalism was  represented  in  a  few  famous 


.     represented. 

names.  The  law,  and  medicine,  and  sci- 
ence, and  architecture,  and  ship-building, 
and  the  pulpit,  were  all  honorably  repre- 
sented. Of  course  there  was  a  generous 
sprinkling  of  politicians  and  office-holders. 
I  thought,  with  what  prodigious  care  the 
list  had  been  selected,  —  showing  a  minute 
acquaintance  with  every  interest  of  the 
great  town  and  its  best  representatives. 
Then  followed  a  dozen  or  more  resolutions,  rheremark- 

.  ,  r      i  i      •         i        vbfe  resolu- 

expressing  the  sense  of  the  people  in  the  0™. 
Nation's  extremity.     They  were  read  with 
much  intelligence  by  the  secretary,  in  a 
rich   full  voice,  and   appeared   to   be   dis- 


246 


A  Club  of  One 


Expressing 
a  thorough, 
knowledge  of 
the  crisis. 


Cut  and  pol- 
ished. 


Surpris- 
ingly com- 
pendious. 


A  distin- 
guished ex- 
senator. 


His  remark- 
able power. 


tinctly  heard  by  each  one  of  the  vast  con- 
course. Every  word  seemed  to  have  been 
considered  and  weighed,  —  expressing  from 
first  to  last  a  thorough  knowledge  and 
comprehension  of  the  situation,  in  all  its 
complication  and  gravity.  I  thought  how 
long  the  writer  of  the  resolutions  must 
have  carried  them  in  his  brain  and  in  his 
pocket,  and  how  many  enlightened  persons 
he  must  have  consulted  in  the  course  of 
their  preparation.  They  were  cut  and  pol- 
ished with  the  skill  of  a  lapidary.  The 
veins  of  thought  were  as  conspicuously  ap- 
parent as  the  lines  in  a  precious  stone. 
Their  scope  was  broad,  and  their  observa- 
tion and  purpose  surprisingly  compendious. 
Patriotism,  experience,  and  statesmanship 
uttered  themselves  throughout.  The  re- 
markable resolutions  would  have  filled  one 
of  the  broad  columns  of  The  Tribune. 
Then  Daniel  S.  Dickinson  was  called  on 
for  a  speech.  The  distinguished  ex-senator 
was  at  his  best.  I  had  never  before  seen 
his  mind  in  such  trim.  He  seemed  able  to 
say  what  he  thought,  and  to  express  all 
shades  and  phases  of  meaning.  There  was 
logic  that  went  to  the  marrow  of  whatever 
he  touched,  and  sarcasm  and  wit  that  en- 
forced it.  His  remarkable  power  as  an  im 


A  Club  of  One 

passioned  orator  never  before  had  struck  me 
as  it  did  then.  His  speech  was  a  long  one, 
and  more  than  senatorial  in  breadth  and  in-  More  than 
cisiveness.  The  old  flag  filled  the  heavens 
as  Rodman  Drake  unfurled  it  there.  The 
vast  assemblage  was  electrified.  Then  Sal- 
mon P.  Chase,  the  secretary  of  the  treas- 
ury,  was  called  out.  Six  feet  in  height, 
he  appeared  that  day  to  be  six  feet  six  in 
his  majestic  proportions.  He  was  indeed 
statuesque,  as  he  stood  for  a  time,  in  the 
midst  of  the  vast  human  sea,  seemingly  un- 
impassioned,  without  uttering  a  word.  His  His  great 
great  two-storied  brain  seemed  teeming  train. 
full  of  important  things  to  be  said.  I  had 
heard  him  speak  many  times,  and  had  lis- 
tened to  him  many  an  hour  in  conversa- 
tion. Always  circumspect  in  speech  be- 
fore an  assembly,  he  appeared  on  this 
occasion  to  be  unusually  and  excessively  unusually 

deliberate' 

deliberate.  His  words,  every  one,  had 
prodigious  weight,  as  they  fell,  one  after 
another,  from  his  lips,  in  solemn  cadence. 
The  knowledge  and  experience  of  many 
years  were  close  behind  every  sentence. 
The  scholar,  the  jurist,  the  statesman, —  The  scholar, 

,.,  -ii'-i-i  TT-      the  jurist. 

all  were  embodied  in  the  orator.  His 
thought  was  as  clear  as  the  mountain  air, 
his  passion  was  incandescent.  Once  or 


248  A  Club  of  One 

twice  he  unconsciously  put  back  his  head 

and  gazed, —  as  I  have  seen  a  lion  look 

off  apparently  thousands  of  miles  into  his 

The  saga-     native  jungle, —  the   sagacious  statesman 

r  ious  states- 

***-  seeming  to  see,  through  the  smoke  of  bat- 
tle and  turn  of  events,  the  upshot  of  the 
mighty  struggle.  His  speech,  also,  was  a 
long  one,  —  longer  by  half  than  any  I  had 
ever  before  heard  him  deliver.  At  the  con- 

rhe  great     elusion  of  it  the  great  audience  dissolved, 

a£ed!e("  '*'  and  I  opened  my  eyes.  I  had  not  changed 
position  in  the  slightest.  The  moon  was 
riding  the  sky  through  the  top  of  the  same 
pane  exactly  as  when  I  had  seen  it  last, 
—  filling  it  full  with  its  overflowing  glory. 

The  remark.  The  whole   thing,  in   reality,  would  have 

op?r™te£na  occupied  four  or  five  hours,  and,  reported, 
would  have  filled  many  columns  of  the  daily 
journal.  It  is  not  possible  that  I  could 
have  been  unconscious  for  more  than  a 
minute  or  two.  I  got  up  in  terror,  shut 

sends  for  a  down  the  windows,  and  sent  off  for  a  heroic 
physician.  What  wonder  that  I  express 
amazement  at  the  human  soul,  and  lose 
myself  trying  to  conceive  the  perpetual 
growth  and  expansion  of  the  immortal 
substance,  when  relieved  and  emancipated 

A  hopeful     from    all    earthly    entanglements,   limits 

interroga-         .  ...» 

tion.  tions  and  miseries  ? 


A  Club  of  One  249 

My  wife  —    But  I  have  scrupulously  re- 
frained from  gossiping  about  her  in  these 
hours  of  my  idleness.     She  herself  is  too  A  tribute  to 
wise  to  keep  any  sort  of  personal  record.  h' 
As  was  said  of  the  Duchess  de  Praslin's 
murder,  "  What  could  a  poor  fellow  do  with 
a  wife  who  kept  a  journal   but  murder 
her?" 


INDEX  OF  PERSONS  REFERRED  TO 


About,  53. 

Adams,  Dr.,  188. 

Addison  (The  Spectator),  170. 

^Eschylus,  148,  167. 

^Esop,  148. 

Alexander,  96,  216. 

Alger,  171. 

Anthon,  165. 

Antoninus,  Marcus,  148, 170. 

Arbuthnot,  140. 

Aristotle,  169. 

Ashbrook,  Lord,  95. 

Atterbury,  159. 

Austen,  Jane,  150,  153,  167. 

Bacon,  27,  165. 

Ballantyne,  Serjeant,  91,  101. 

Balzac,  74,  169. 

Barbauld,  Mrs.,  152. 

Barnes,  75. 

Barrere,  119. 

Barrow,  149,  153. 


Beaconsfield  (Disraeli),  30. 

Beattie,  Dr.,  97. 

Beauclerk,  228. 

Beckford  (Vathek),  169. 

Bentham,  216. 

Bentley,  151. 

Beranger,  152. 

Blot,  Madame  de,  97,  98. 

Boerhaave,  73. 

Bossuet,  149,  160. 

Boswell,  97,  168,  228. 

Bourdaloue,  149. 

Brackenridge,  215. 

Bronte",  Charlotte,  150,  167,  204. 

Brougham,  Lord,  98. 

Brown,  John,  170. 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  83,  149,  153,  168. 

Bryant,  166. 

Bulwer,  170. 

Buncle,  John  (Amory,  Thomas),  81. 

Bunyan,  153,  168. 


Burke,  217. 

Burleigh,  Lord,  59. 

Burns,  27,  64,  90,  140,  141,  142,  150,  167. 

Burton,  149,  168. 

Butler,  167. 

Byron,  78,  86,  91,  142. 

Byron,  Lady,  77. 

Caesar,  91,  119. 

Calcraft,  91. 

Campbell,  73. 

Campbell,  Dr.,  57. 

Carlyle,  63,  66,  105,  119,  120,  150,  166, 

1 86. 

Carlyle,  Jane,  238. 
Carlyle,  John,  31. 
Carnot,  119. 
Gary,  30. 
Casaubon,  57. 
Castlereagh,  Lord,  200. 
Cervantes  (Don  Quixote),  70. 
Chalmers,  149. 
Charles  (Charlemagne),  46. 
Charles  II.,  83. 
Chase,  Salmon  P.,  247. 
Chillingworth,  183. 
Gibber,  Colley,  97. 
Cicero,  64,  148,  160,  168. 
Cleopatra,  139. 
Coleridge,  29,  75,  88,  134,  150,  170,  173, 

192,  242. 

Collins,  Wilkie,  179. 
Columbus,  73. 
Confucuis,  108,  169,  236. 
Conti,  Prince  of,  97,  98. 
Cooper,  57,  169,  171. 
Cooper,  Sir  Astley,  129. 
Cottenham,  Lord,  94. 
Cowdin,  Elliot  C.,  244. 
Cowper,  140. 
Crabbe,  74. 
Curtis,  166. 

Dana,  168. 


252 


Index  of  Persons  referred  to 


Dante,  30,  31,  3?,  44,  144,  149,  153,  154, 

165,  200. 
Darius,  225. 
Darwin,  168,  177,  184. 
De  Foe  (Robinson  Crusoe),  168. 
De  Quincey,  150,  153,  167,  187,  241. 
Dew,  Prof.,  188. 
Dickens,  150,  168,  197,  205. 
Dickinson,  Daniel  S.,  246. 
Diderot,  187. 
Disraeli,  Isaac,  149,  168. 
Dodsley,  75. 
Donne,  153. 
Dore",  30,  32,  36,  73. 
Drake,  Rodman,  247. 
Dryden,  89. 
Dumont,  212. 

Edge  worth,  Richard  Lovell,  90. 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  193. 

Eldon,  113,  156. 

Eliot,  George,  201. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  85. 

Emerson,  26,  55,  107,  150,  166,  238. 

Epictetus,  148,  167. 

Erasmus,  170,  177,  242. 

Erskine,  87,  88,  152,  217. 

Esquirol,  24. 

Euripides,  153. 

Evelyn,  170. 

Fabius,  108. 

Farr,  Dr.,  81. 

Fe"nelon,  154,  168. 

Fielding,  168. 

Fields,  168,  198. 

Flamelin,  Madame,  230. 

Fontenelle,  54. 

Foote,  89. 

Foster,  136,  137,  139,  149,  167. 

Fox,  88. 

Fox,  George,  172. 

Franklin,  59,  87. 

Fraser,  93. 

Frederick  the  Great,  180. 

Froude,  60,  119,  169. 

Fuller,  Margaret,  141. 

Fuller,  Thomas,  169. 

Fuseli,  44. 

Galen,  163. 

Garrow,  87. 

Gay,  140. 

Genlis,  Madame  de,  97,  126,  181. 

George  II.,  93. 

George  III.,  229.' 

George  IV.,  54. 

Gibbon,  162. 


Gibbon,  Lieut.,  182. 

Godwin,  167. 

Goethe,  26,  103,  153,  158,  168,  197,  236. 

Goldsmith,  37,  66,  89,  150,  166,  188. 

Grammont,  228. 

Gray,  153. 

Grey,  Countess,  75. 

Greeley,  94,  95. 

Hahnemann,  15. 

Hall,  Robert,  149,  193. 

Haller,  118. 

Hamilton,  Sir  William,  186. 

Hannibal,  95,  96. 

Harvey,  1 18. 

Hawthorne,  in,  134,  135,  147,  150,  166, 

197,  201. 
Hay  ward,  31. 
Hazlitt,  150,  155,  169. 
Heine,  36. 
Heister,  83. 
Henriot,  163. 
Henry  IV.,  214. 
Henry,  Patrick,  47. 
Heraclitus,  225,  226. 
Herbert,  George,  188. 
Herodotus,  136. 
Hillard,  168. 
Hitchcock,  Dr.,  2 10. 
Hippocrates,  22. 
Hobhouse,  218. 

Holmes,  10,  41,  91,  150,  166,  193. 
Homer,  31,  148,  153,  165. 
Hood,  122. 
Holbein,  168. 
Houghton,  H.  O.,  166. 
Hume,  187. 
Hunt,  37,  55,  96,  102,  150,  152,  200,  215, 

218,  232,  233. 

Ibrahim,  192. 

Ingres,  96. 

Irving,  30,  167,  171. 

effrey,  93. 

ekyll,  70. 

errold,  65,  153,  170,  214. 

ohnson,  43,  70,  97,  98,  150,  168,  169. 

oubert,  170. 

Kant,  187. 
Keats,  37,  75,  150. 
Kemble,  Fanny,  54. 
Kempis,  Thomas  a,  152,  168. 
Kinglake,  170. 

La  Bruyere,  170. 

La  Rochefoucauld,  167,  228. 


Index  of  Persons  referred  to 


Lamb,  27,  70,  75,  88,  123,  134,  167. 

Lamartine,  144. 

Landor,  100,  168. 

Landseer,  176. 

Lawrence,  54,  147,  239. 

Lay,  Benjamin,  59. 

Lee,  Jack,  144,  145. 

Le  Sage  (Gil  Bias),  167. 

L'Estrange,  235. 

Lessing,  239. 

Lessius,  241. 

Lever  (Charles  O'Malley),  i6a 

Lewis,  169. 

Lind,  Jenny,  175. 

Livius,  Titus,  155. 

Locke,  186,  216. 

Louis  XIV.,  92. 

Lover,  170. 

Lowell,  150. 

Lucian,  71,  72. 

Lucretius,  225. 

Luther,  169. 

Macaulay,  67,  70,  89,  150,  153,  168,  172, 

173. 

Macdpnald,  65. 
Machiavelli,  170. 
Mahomet,  34. 
Malthus,  187. 
Mandeville,  171. 
Mansfield,  Lord,  217. 
Manzoni,  171. 
Markham,  Miss,  93. 
Marlborough,  Duchess  of,  97. 
Martineau,  Harriet,  240. 
Massillon,  149. 
Mathews,  127. 
Metastasio,  in. 
Meynert,  241. 
Mifflin,  George  H.,  166. 
Mill,  167,  203. 
Milton,  148,  153,  165. 
Mirabeau,  212. 

Mitchell  (Reveries  of  a  Bachelor),  168. 
Moliere,  234. 

Montaigne,  54,  116,  130,  135,  149,  166. 
Montagu,  Basil,  90. 
Montagu,  Lady  Mary  Wortley,  168. 
Montesquieu,  58,  86,  130,  170. 
Montgaillard,  119. 
Moore,  57,  139- 
More,  Hannah,  199. 
More;  Sir  Thomas,  170,  216. 
Morris,  Gouverneur,  147. 
Motley,  230. 
Mountjoy,  Lord,  147. 
Moutron,  de,  230. 


Muhlenberg,  Dr.,  188. 
Murray,  31,  93. 

Napoleon,  153. 
Nasmyth,  90. 
Nelson,  170. 
Northcote,  169. 
Northumberland,  Duke  of,  117. 

O'Connell,  196. 
Ossian,  153. 
Ovid,  153. 

Parry,  218. 

Parton,  171. 

Pascal,  40,  149,  167. 

Patrick,  Bishop,  79. 

Peterborough,  100. 

Petrarch,  144. 

Philip  II.,  230. 

Pindar,  232,  233. 

Pitt,  88. 

Plato,  78,  148,  150,  155,  166. 

Pleasonton,  23. 

Plutarch,  170. 

Pope,  31,  69,  89,  140,  154,  158. 

Prashn,  Duchess  de,  249. 

Pyrrhus,  96. 

Queensbury,  Duchess  of,  53. 
Queensbury,  Duke  of,  15. 

Rabelais,  ri,  149,  169,  226. 

Rachel,  Mile.,  96. 

Ribera,  240. 

Ricardo,  187. 

Richelieu,  144. 

Richter,  Jean  Paul,  65,  76,  142,  159,  201. 

Robespierre,  63,  1 19. 

Robinson,  128,  167. 

Rogers,  44. 

Roland,  Madame,  129,  143. 

Rosch,  24. 

Ryan,  Father,  76. 

Saadi,  127. 

Saint  Pierre  (Paul  and  Virginia),  171. 

Sandwich,  Lord,  183. 

Savage,  169. 

Schiller,  149,  153. 

Scipio,  95,  96. 

Scott,  91,  154,  170. 

Seeley  (Ecce  Homo),  169. 

Selden,  108,  169. 

Seneca,  166. 

Se'vigne',  Madame  de,  168. 

Shakespeare,  27,  149,  153. 

Shelley,  150. 


154 


Index  of  Persons  referred  to 


Sheridan,  142. 

Sheridan,  Tom,  100. 

Smith,  Adam,  187,  188. 

Smith,  James,  157. 

Smith,  Sydney,  75,  90,  93,  167,  196. 

Smollett  (Humphry  Clinker),  169. 

Snopke,  Miss  Maria,  137. 

Sobieski,  192. 

Socrates,  148,  171. 

South,  149  153. 

Southey,  78,  79,  113,  170,  219. 

Souvestre,  149,  159,  167. 

Spence,  75,  154,  169,  191. 

Spenser,  153. 

Spinoza,  153. 

Stael,  Madame  de,  230. 

Stair,  Lord,  92. 

Steele,  192,  226. 

Sterne,  71,  158,  171. 

Stewart,  Dugald,  186. 

Stowe,  Mrs.  (Uncle  Tom's  Cabin),  151, 

167. 

Suetonius,  148. 
Sugden,  94. 
Sully,  214. 
Swift,  13,  121,  140, 149, 166, 171, 179,  192, 

226. 

Taine,  102. 

Talfourd,  167. 

Talleyrand,  104,  229. 

Tasso,  144,  170. 

Taylor,  130,  153. 

Thackeray,  64,  67,  76,  90,  145,  150,  153, 

169. 

Thomas,  General,  107. 
Thorns,  89. 


Thoreau,  168. 
Thurlow,  229. 
Ticknor,  168. 
Titian,  123. 
Tocqueville,  158. 
Trollope,  57. 

Valerius,  108. 

Venable,  William  H.,  78. 

Virgil,  31,  46,  t53,  165. 

Voltaire,  58,  67,  97,  100,  180,  181,  227, 

Wallace,  105. 
Waller,  50. 
Walpole,  53. 
Walton,  168. 
Warburton,  191. 
Washington,  118,  231.  ' 
Webster,  Daniel,  187. 
Webster,  Noah,  165. 
Wesley,  149,  153,  170. 
Whately,  187. 
White,  168. 

Wilberforce,  Canon,  214. 
William  the  Silent,  231. 
Williams,  Gilly,  63. 
Wilson,  167. 
Woolman,  171,  172. 
Wordsworth,  128,  150. 
Wycherley,  48,  49,  50. 
Wycherley,  Mrs.,  49,  50. 

Xenophon,  171. 

Zenobia,  139. 
Zoroaster,  10. 
Zschokke,  68. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


7  REC'D 


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